Quietus
by Avur
Summary: View of castle life from the eyes of a servant as a chain of events ensure that she catches the attentions of those high above.
1. Chapter a half

**CH 0 **

I walked slowly under the warm rays, while the guards behind me tried to usher me on. I have not felt sunlight in roughly eight months; it burnt pleasantly into my clothes and made my neck warm. The building in front of me looked amazingly polished, and as imposing and sterile as ever.

I couldn't help but glance around as I entered my friend's workspace. They had fixed it up so well that no trace of warfare could be found anywhere. Gentle white lights glowed overhead, illuminating the smooth surfaces where my best friend had worked for over half her life. A scanner lit up as I approached a second security clearance. I had been here several times before to visit her and to have coffee together. We'd always make the director furious, since we were drinking liquids right next to million-dollar machines.

My eyes instinctively squinted as I stepped into the room where she used to work, for the artificial lights glared in here. They had replaced the bullet-damaged machines with even better technology, no doubt in an attempt to compensate for my friend's absence. Her research had been important, well, important enough to warrant my transfer anyway. Sadly for them, I doubt I could match Zander's level of brilliance in this field. It's not a lack of self-confidence talking; I was simply not trained for this.

The supercomputer hummed softly and I could see my dreadful reflection in its surfaces. I scanned my eyes, logging into the system, and performed a preliminary system scan just to make sure that everything was in place. My other colleagues haven't arrived yet, so I leaned back motionlessly against the smooth white wall, staring blankly ahead.

I'll try not to think about how her life very possibly ended some thirty feet away from where I stood.


	2. Chapter 1

**CH 1**

"Altaïr, you are late."

"My apologies, Master, I have gone as fast as I could," the man in white averted his gaze, but not before noticing his master watching his companion, "Master, she is only dressed as such because her own clothes were unsuitable for journeying."

"The rafiq in Beirut has already informed me of it," The older man assured him, then turned to his companion, "I am Al Mualim, Master of the Assassins. What is your name?"

Altaïr looked to the girl to his right, seeing her shake ever so slightly under the grey robes of a novice. He was almost about to reply for her when she did so.

"I-I am Almira…Master."

The old man studied her with slight interest, then spoke solemnly, "Almira, my child, it seems that my student has gotten you into quite a bind. Let me put it plainly. You can either stay here, or you must die."

"Di…Die?" She gasped.

Altaïr looked to the ground,

"We cannot let you go, seeing as you know of what Altaïr looks like and where the bureau in Beirut is located."

"I am sorry, girl, but those are your choices." Al Mualim added, as if to remind her.

"Well, only an idiot will choose to die," she said, more to herself, "I will stay here, Master."

"Good, good. That was what I had hoped to hear." Al Mualim's expression instantly softened, "now, you must be tired, both of you. Altaïr, you may go. Almira, this is Raja, she will show you the hospitality of the Assassins."

A severe looking woman stepped out from the shadows. She was short, standing no more than Almira's shoulder. Her face seemed frozen with a perpetual frown.

Altaïr bowed to Al Mualim in respect, noticing the girl copying him. She was overweight, contridicting the life she's led so far. She smiled to him and bid him goodbye as they exited the library.

The warm rays of sunset hit him as he strode out of the castle. The clamor of training swords reached his ears as he leaned on the wooden railing of the ramp that led down to the training grounds. Two newly initiated assassins were sparring, both of them sporting bandaged left hands. His attention shifted momentarily to two figures disappearing into a corridor. Altaïr pushed gently away from the railing, walking into the castle. He half-heartedly searched for someone, though he knew if his friend was here he would be talking to him already.

_It was midday. He had been waiting for at least an hour with no signs of life appearing in the graveyard. Out of boredom he activated the hidden blade, hearing its faint "shink". Keeping an eye on the cemetery, he ran his right hand along the length of the weapon, feeling its deadly sharpness. With a flick of his wrist he retracted it. The assassin unsheathed and sheathed it repeatedly, his form hidden by the conveniently placed roof garden. _

_Then, a man appeared. He was dressed in common robes, with a haggard expression. The smuggler. _

_Altaïr immediately crouched, retracting his blade as an entourage of guards emerged from an alley. His target, Tariq, was surrounded by them. They stopped at the gate to the graveyard, Tariq summoning his soldiers to stay outside while he went in with the smuggler and what must be his adored wife.  
_

_They talked, argued, shouted. Tariq pulled a dagger out and the woman broke her silence, begging him to see reason. He slapped her with enough force to knock her to the ground, then cursed and kicked her. Altaïr pounced, making the crime lord topple to the ground with a blade in his neck. His aim was true; the blade had severed both the jugular and the carotid on both sides of his neck. After brushing a feather across the dead man's neck, he raised his head to check his surroundings._

_Those eyes. He'll never forget those eyes._

_For one, she had differently colored eyes. Two, he had seen neither of those two colors before. The left one was a shade bluer than white, which made that eye look like just a pupil. The right one glistened in a bright amethyst. _

_He had to run though; the guards were angry at him. He sprinted across the cemetery, jumping on top of a tombstone then leaping onto the fence. From there he bounded onto the roofs, when alarm bells screamed throughout Beirut. He took refuge in a lifesaving pile of hay as the madmen ran past him. _

_He'd let her see his face._

_Once again he sprinted across the beams and tops. His eyes not only watched where he was going, but also for a well-dressed woman amongst the stampede. It was grueling work, but he managed after an hour of roof-running. She was sat by a fountain in a quiet courtyard, her body bent double and shaking from crying. He landed soundlessly behind her.  
_

"_Mourning…for the loss…of your master?" He asked coldly, trying to minimize his panting._

_She slowly raised her head, her sobbing ceasing the instant he spoke. Her veil was gone, revealing odd features that looked both Arabic and Crusader at the same time. A few strands of her straight black hair had escaped her scarf, hanging around her face._

"_No, assassin, not mourning. These are tears of joy." She wiped her eyes._

"_Who are you?"_

"_Almira al-Dimashqi."_

_He's heard of her, in fact, the whole city has. Almira was well-known for being Tariq's adored wife. He doted on her, buying her the best of everything with money from his crime empire. His informants said that he even killed for her. He felt his left hand twitch._

_"Don't kill me," she said softly, "I had just gotten a taste of freedom; don't take that away so soon."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"I don't know what the others tell you, but I am no lavished princess, assassin. I was Tariq's sl-...I..." her voice choked, though she seemed determined not to cry._

_"Speak sense, woman," he said coldly__, "None in the entire city talks favorably of you."  
_

_"Well then, Tariq has reached his goal," she retorted bitterly, "The truth is, I was Tariq's slave, a slave and nothing more."_

_"A slave? Why does he bring you to every meeting then?"_

_She sighed. "Tariq isn't exactly...right...in the head, which may be why he has such a high standing in the crime world. As for bringing me along, only God knows why."_

_He clenched his jaws, but offered no response.  
_

_"So what will become of me?" She asked impassively after several moments.  
_

_A frown of annoyance crossed his features. He can't kill her since she was innocent, but she knows his face so he cannot let her go either. Damn, what to do? He'd rather she be guilty of something so he can just get rid of her. _

_An hour and several groaning guards later, they arrived at the bureau in Beirut. He could have gotten there so much faster but with a girl in tow, they had to go through the chaotic streets. The rafiq, Karim, agreed to shelter them until the city stops her shrieking. The bureau leader also recommended that Almira change out of her extravagant silks into some commoner clothes. He remembered asking Karim why he had spare novice robes, to which Karim replied nonchalantly that its previous owner had died. It took them two days to travel to Masyaf. He had to steal a horse for her and was relieved that she could at least hold on for dear life.  
_

He found himself back in the library, only this time going through the vast shelves of books. Nothing really appealed to him, but whoever was in charge of the library sometimes added new books, and so he searched with ever diminishing hope. His hand was resting on the ancient bindings of a thick volume when a voice called to him.

"Altaïr! It's good to have you back!"

"Rauf." He nodded, as the uninitiated youngster weaved through the shelves to get to him.

"Was the mission successful?" Rauf asked excitedly.

He frowned, "What do you think?"

"Of course, of course, a master like you never fails." The young boy said, smiling innocently.

Altaïr wished that he actually was a Master Assassin; as of yet, only one man in the entire Brotherhood holds the title.

"I do hope Al Mualim would allow me to be taken on a mission," Rauf continued, scratching his head, "I feel that I am ready."

"Al Mualim will inform you when you are, Rauf." Altaïr responded, "Have you any idea where Malik is?"

"Ah, you do not know? He left for Acre at noon today with another assassin. Altaïr, do you think you can take me along on your next mission?" Rauf looked hopeful.

Altaïr cringed inside. How many times did he have to tell the youngster that it's not his decision?

"Rauf, have you nothing better to do than pestering me?"

The younger boy shrugged, "I'm just waiting-…"

At this moment a loud bell rang slowly for three times.

"…-for dinner! Altaïr, come to the dining hall! You can tell me of the bold things that happened this time!"

Altaïr rolled his eyes; Rauf was so unlike the others of his age.

"Sorry Rauf, I'm not that hungry." As soon as he said that, his midsection grumbled in complaint.

"I do believe you belly says otherwise. Come! The tables will still be open if we go now."

Altaïr's face flushed as another grumble issued from his stomach. He was glad that his hood covered his face.

"Ok alright, I'm hungry. Stop elbowing me!"

* * *

Almira followed the woman in front of her as fast as she could. Despite Raja's small size, she moved with the pace of a galloping horse. Speaking of horses, her thighs burned with every step, as if knives were grinding in between the different muscles. Her back, likewise, ached excruciatingly.

"You should not be wearing those," Raja said flatly, "You are not an assassin and should not taint their uniform."

Almira remained quite; she didn't have the energy to talk back. She kept her eyes on Raja's heels as they moved at a blur. A large door was suddenly in front of them. The older woman pushed it open, revealing a tailor's room. A young, slim girl was sat in a chair, sewing on a piece of white cloth. She looked at Raja with a hint of dread, her needle in midair.

"Ikram, I need some clothes for Almira here, now. She dares to wear Assassin robes."

Ikram's mouth formed an "O" before setting her things down carefully and disappearing behind a curtain. She came back shortly with a stack of brown and white clothes, handing them to Almira while gesturing towards a side room. Almira thanked her, before closing the door and changing out of the manly garments.

"How many are finished?" came Raja's voice.

"This is my third one, ma'am," Ikram sounded exhausted, "I will leave for dinner after I fini-"

"-the third? You have only finished two? Do you know how urgent we need them?"

"I…I am so sorry, ma'am…I-I am sewing as fast as I can."

"You are trying my patience, Ikram. You shall not get dinner unless you finish a forth."

"But…!" a slight sigh came out, "Yes ma'am."

Almira finished and stepped out, a dislike of Raja growing inside her. Her assassin uniform was now replaced with a brown, shapeless and long-sleeved dress. A slightly off-white scarf covered her hair. On Raja's command, Ikram took the rumpled uniform from her and absentmindedly tossed it into a basket. She wordlessly sat back on her stool and picked up the white cloth she was sewing. It was then that Almira discovered that Raja was already out the door, not waiting for her.

The dining hall radiated noise and chatter long before they actually reached it. The smell of food made her belly churn with hunger. Instead of the main doors, however, they went in through a small side entrance. It opened up into the same general area that the larger doors opened toward, but to a different section of the room. The servants ate in a corner with four long, unpolished tables laid out. It was right next to the kitchen, giving cooks a convenient route to their tables. Many servants were already sat, talking and jokingjovially but mostly ignoring the assassins behind them. Raja led Almira into the kitchen, where a counter facing the larger section of the hall was packed with food. Many uniformed men were lined up, moving along as they picked what they wanted on their plates. Through the line she saw a face that she recognized.

_Altaïr, the man who killed Tariq.  
_

For some reason she didn't want him to see her, not that it's a worry. He seemed too engrossed in talking to a younger boy to notice the people in the kitchen. Raja shoved a plate into her hands, quickly filling it with greens and hummus with pita bread, as well as a skewer of lamb. She allowed herself to be led back to one of the servants' tables, her hands unsteady from the two days of holding onto a saddle. Raja didn't speak to her again until almost all the assassins had left the dining area, leaving behind mountains of dirty plates and spilled food.

"Are you tired?" Raja asked her quickly.

"Yes, very much so-"

"-good," Raja cut her off, "we have a room ready. Follow."

Almira sighed as the older woman rushed out the door. Now that her hunger was quelled, exhaustion had taken over. They passed many assassins on the way, and Raja either pulled Almira out of their path, or stopped against the wall to let them pass. The castle was huge, with an infinite amount of doors and rooms. As they walked, the number of people passing them decreased. Raja finally stopped at a door, opening it wordlessly and gesturing Almira inside.

"I will come for you in the morning, the Master wishes to speak to you," she said as she turned to leave.

"Thank you." Almira mumbled. The mere sight of the bed was enough to make her legs wobbly. She closed the door behind her, staggered over to the bed. and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

_Note: I hope you've enjoyed that. __I posted ch.0 because putting that little section here just didn't seem to "fit". _

_Please review! __Flames will make me sad,__ but I love reading intelligently written reviews!  
_


	3. Chapter 2

**CH 2  
**

Altaïr awoke to the deafening morning bells designed to wake the dead. He sat up groggily, noticing the clean set of white robes folded neatly on the table for him. No doubt a maid set it there yesterday, and he had simply failed to notice it. He stretched, looking towards the pile of weapons on the floor. They glinted in the morning light, reflecting their deadliness. Altaïr was meticulous with them, cleaning them every night to ensure an excellent state of repair. He got up off the bed and into the fresh white assassin robes, tossing the dirty ones carelessly on the floor, and then bent down and picked up his weapons, strapping them on. He didn't need them in the fortress, but their weight was reassuring. Taking a moment to make sure everything was in the correct place, he stepped out into the busy hallway.

"Altaïr! Good morning."

He turned to see a newly initiated novice stride towards him, "And upon you as well Kadar."

"I saw you come back with a novice yesterday, how was it?"

"What novice?" Altaïr blurted, not fully awake.

Kadar went silent for a moment. "Um…the novice that I saw you come back with?"

Altaïr's haze suddenly cleared up, he coughed. "_Oh_…yes, him, he did a good job."

Kadar frowned at his response, but put it behind him. "I can't wait to go out on a mission."

"How is your hand?"

"It reminds me I am still alive," the novice gingerly touched his left hand, "but alas, I now have only nine fingers."

"It will heal quickly," Altaïr said, "you'll soon be wondering why you were born with ten."

Kadar smiled miserably. They made their way into the communal bathroom for a quick wash before heading off to the dining hall. Many men were already there, making the room echo with noise. As Altaïr went in he caught sight of a rather tall woman heading out through the servant door. Almira, he remembered, the slave he brought back. She'll probably lead a new life as a maid in the castle. Breakfast went plainly, the only difference being that he was interrupted before he could finish.

"Whut doo yoo wannt?" Altaïr spoke through a mouth full of eggs, looking at the young, newly recruited boy standing behind him.

"Altaïr, s-sir...t-the Master has sent for you," the boy replied, a terrified expression on his face.

"Oh…?" He swallowed, confused for a moment. Al Mualim doesn't generally request meetings this early.

"Alright, I will be there shortly. Thank you."

The boy turned and dashed out of the dining hall, running into two assassins who cursed after him. Altaïr surveyed the remaining food, before stuffing some goat cheese into a piece of flat bread. The younger men in the hall glanced at him, giggling at the fact that he was dropping cheese and bread bits as he made his way out. He stopped by the communal bathroom again, making sure he doesn't have unsightly food stuck anywhere.

Voices came from the balcony when he passed the double doors. Altaïr ignored them; Al Mualim has other businesses to tend to, of course. He ascended the stairs two at a time, striding briskly towards the space between two large bookshelves.

"Master, you sent for me?" Altaïr asked, "…Almira?"

"Good morning, Altaïr." She smiled.

"That will be all, Almira. Raja will be in the dining hall at this time of day, I assume you know where that is?"

"Yes Master, I was just there."

"Good. Seek her out, she will show you where to begin."

"I shall, thank you Master."

Almira turned to leave. She glanced at Altaïr before lowering her gaze and sidestepping around him. Her quiet footsteps quickly faded away.

"Altaïr, come forward."

"Master." He bowed.

"You do not disappoint, Tariq's empire crumbles as we speak," Al Mualim commended, "As well, Almira has told me of her story."

Altaïr raised his head, a hint of curiosity on his face.

"She wishes to give you her thanks. Tariq had many enemies; no doubt they would place their displeasure on her should they have caught her. Altaïr-…" Al Mualim paused, making the young man lean ever so slightly forward, eager for his next words.

"Instead of taking a life, you have saved one. You have done well my child." The Master finished.

Altaïr felt his chest swell with joy, he unconsciously straightened his back more.

"If I may ask, Master, what is to become of her?"

"She will stay here and work at the castle, under Raja."

Altaïr grimaced. Everyone knew of Raja's reputation, and most some of the younger assassins feared her.

"She has expressed an interest in horses when we were traveling," Altaïr continued, seeing that Al Mualim was in a good mood, "Why not move her under Ahmed?"

"Ahmed has not come to me requesting stable hands, so for now she will work for Raja. In any case, a woman's build is not suitable for such tasks." The older man leafed through a book on the large table. The table was polished and impressive, having been with the Assassins for decades.

Altaïr nodded, but seemed uneasy. Al Mualim studied his student, an amused look on his weathered face.

"You seem to care about her more than is proper, Altaïr."

Altaïr's face immediately flushed with embarrassment. He ducked his head, using his hood as a shield.

"I-my apologies, Master…I only wish to see that she is well," He stammered.

Al Mualim continued to study his pupil with a piercing gaze, until Altaïr was sure that he was glowing red. The old man then turned to face the window, a hand on his beard.

"We are done here, Altaïr. For saving the life of an innocent, I promote you to Grand Professional. Now go, rest and keep up your training. Expect another assignment from me soon."

Hearing the promotion, Altaïr's heart leaped. At last, he is of the same rank or higher than all his friends! He bowed low and left the balcony. The day was still terribly young, and many Assassin Scholars were coming into the library for their weekly meet with the Master. The Scholars were respected members of the Brotherhood who, having reached a certain age, was to stay in the fortress. Many of them trained the next generation, but some also did more menial tasks as keeping records and balancing the checkbook. Altaïr nodded to them in respect as he passed them, a spring in his steps from the good news.

* * *

Almira kept her eyes cast down and walked along the walls, careful not to knock into any of the uniformed men going away from the massive doors. She wondered if those doors ever closed; they looked so heavy as to be immovable. The large room was almost empty now, with the kitchen piling away what little leftovers there were. She heard Raja before seeing her; the woman had a loud voice for such a small stature. Al Mualim had confirmed her suspicion, that Raja was the head of the servants. She waited behind everyone else until the woman finished giving everyone their assignment.

"Raja?" Almira asked politely.

"Ah, you again," Raja didn't smile, "What is it?"

"I will be staying here from now on. I am to work at the castle."

"Oh."

Almira waited for her to continue. She didn't.

"Al Mualim said you would show me where to begin." She said.

Raja blinked, as if she didn't know how to deal with this sudden disruption of routine. She pursed her lips.

"Alright, ok, if Al Mualim says so. What skills have you?" Raja asked, whilst walking out the servant door. Almira followed her down the hallway.

"Skills…I, uh…"

_Well, yes, Tariq taught her things, things Raja probably don't want to hear. _

"Yes, skills!" Raja snapped, "What do you know? Sew? Cook? Clean?"

"I can learn." Almira replied, keeping her tone even. Raja was getting on her nerves.

The older woman scoffed, then turned around to study her. Almira clenched her jaws, feeling Raja's eyes scrutinizing her.

"Ugh." Raja spat, "You are quite well-fed for such times, you know."

"I wish only to help, Raja."Almira forced her voice to remain soft; something else she'd learned under Tariq.

"Fine, I give you a job that will put your build to good use."

* * *

_Note: I hope this has been ok so far. I've put alot of time into this so please please review! I love reading reviews!_


	4. Chapter 3

**CH 3  
**

For the next week and a half, Almira's job turned out to be helping a group of servants rebuild a section of the city wall that threatened to collapse from age. Both men and women worked on it, though they kept their distances. She towered over most of the women in both height and build, but realized that she was terribly inefficient at mortaring anything together. The others noticed as well, and for the rest of the week she was demoted to carrying crates and buckets of bricks and stones back and forth for them.

Today was especially hard. The wall was almost finished so the servants decided to skip breakfast to get it done with. Almira panted as she hooked the large bucket of stones onto the rope. They had built a scaffold as they went up higher, and now she had to use a lever system to haul the stones up. The rope felt slippery in her sweaty palms as she breathed through her nose and pulled down on it. Some of the servants on top of the scaffold helped her, while others fixed the mortar. They had to hurry; it wouldn't be long before the day grew too hot to work.

Two hours later, the wall was finished. There was no rest to be had, however, as they now had to take down the scaffold. A few brave men went forth and broke several support beams, causing the structure to collapse in a dusty heap. Almira frowned slightly, thinking of a much neater way to take down the scaffold without all the broken wood. She kept her mouth shut however, and went to help the others clean up the mess.

Lunch went like before: get in line, get food, and sit down. She chatted with Ikram, who had been pulled from tailor duty to work on the wall. Ikram had come to them five days ago with a shocked expression.

"_I can't believe it! I'm not meant for this." She had said to Almira angrily during lunch._

"_What do you mean?" Almira had asked impassively, too tired to care about Ikram's woes._

"_Raja! She came to me and said, 'Needlework is not meant for everyone, perhaps you are meant to do something less _delicate_'. Can you believe that Raja would pull me out of sewing duty when she desperately needs new uniforms?"_

Ikram was mumbling something about being glad that the wall was finished. Almira scanned the loud room, and saw Altaïr at once. He was not hard to find, being taller than most of the men there. Lately she had formed a routine, where she would search the room for him at mealtimes. He was always there with someone, and he never took notice of her.

_Why would he? She was a servant after all, and a slave before that._

She wondered why she was doing such a thing. It's not really stalking, since she wasn't actively seeking him out, just a glance every now and then during meals. He was a gorgeous man, she can't deny that, but she wasn't attracted to him in any romantic or sexual ways. Perhaps it's because he had saved her? She wanted to talk to him sometime, but wouldn't know what to say to him.

She sighed, chewing on some peas. With the wall done, they can eat more leisurely. Raja will have to give them new work details for the afternoon.

"Ikram," she said, "Do you think Raja will reassign you to the tailor room?"

Ikram frowned lightly, "I do hope not, sewing is boring and I stab my fingers."

Almira gave a "huh" and bit a chunk off a piece of flat bread.

"Hey, do you know what the best duty is?" Ikram said.

Almira noted the tone and decided to go along. "No, what?"

"Tending to sick brothers." She smiled mischievously.

"Really." Almira cocked a brow, "Tending to sick people? That sounds annoying, not to mention getting yourself sick."

"Not sick _people_, sick _brothers_," Ikram corrected, "And besides, if I get sick, that means I won't have to see Raja' s face."

Almira didn't reply, but glanced at Altaïr; another assassin had sat down next to him. Ikram didn't notice her lack of contribution to the conversation.

"You know, they look so tough now, but when they get sick, they become a wreck. I've been assigned to tend to them twice before. It's a good job. The brothers are all so friendly since they're all cooped up, and-…"

"Does Altaïr ever get sick?" Almira suddenly asked.

"Altaïr? The best assassin in the Brotherhood?" Ikram followed her eyes across the room. A look of pure adoration crossed her face.

"Unfortunately, no," She pouted, "Or he certainly was not when I was on duty. If he was…"

Ikram rested her head on her hands, her eyes distant as she sighed happily.

"Ikram, how old are you?"

"I've seen thirteen summers, but I'll be fourteen soon."

Almira studied her; Ikram looked a lot older.

"You?"

"Eighteen," she replied.

Ikram stared at her.

"What?"

"You are eighteen?" The young girl asked incredulously.

"Yes. Something wrong?"

"And you are not married?"

Almira raised an eyebrow, and then suddenly realized that Ikram probably didn't know her background.

"That...connects to a period of my life I'd rather not talk about..." She mumbled.

"Oh, I'm sorry to bring it up" Ikram said softly.

Almira merely shrugged, concentrating on her food.

"My parents wish for me to marry soon, as I am getting quite old for a maiden. They say they have a man in mind. I hope he is handsome like the brothers here."

"Handsome?" Almira questioned, "Not pleasant, or forgiving?"

_Tariq was quite the handsome man._

"Well, that would be nice," Ikram chuckled, "But I daren't dream of it."

* * *

Altaïr's head throbbed painfully as he chewed the food in his mouth. Kadar was sitting across from him, trying futilely to start a conversation. He was close to giving up when a familiar figure sat down next to his companion.

"Altaïr, it's good to see that you are back."

"Fahra!" Kadar exclaimed.

The girl smiled at him, before seeing his still bandaged left hand. Her smile slowly disappeared.

"Kadar, did you-?"

"Yes," Kadar replied proudly, "I'm a novice now."

"Congratulations, _brother_." She said, beaming at him.

Altaïr merely grunted. Kadar was a newly initiated novice, but he was a full-fledged _assassin_!

"What is wrong with him?" Fahra said impassively, picking at her food.

"Don't know, he won't say." Kadar shrugged, "How goes the mission?"

Fahra thought about it while she chewed. She ran a hand through her short brown hair.

"The guards killed my horse, so I took another one from the Templars, and Malik got an arrow in the side."

Kadar gagged and sputtered into his drink, "How can you say those things in the same sentence!"

"But, but," she quickly added, "He'll be fine, it was nothing. Really. Both me and him have had much worse."

"So where is he?" Kadar asked.

"Probably at the tailor's. His clothes are utterly ruined."

A silence lingered over them. Kadar stole glances at Altaïr, whose face was still plastered with a frown.

"Altaïr, brother, what's wrong?" Fahra finally asked in a serious voice.

His scowl immediately melted when he looked into her inquisitive brown eyes. Did he really think he can withstand that gaze? He turned away, using his hood to hide a blush.

"It's nothing, really." He stammered. He can't say the real reason, it'll just make him look weak and childish.

"I don't believe you!" Kadar cried out, "You sulked the entire morning over nothing?"

At this moment a lone assassin walked through the large double doors. Kadar's eyes lit up as he saw him, but Altaïr's features grew dark and menacing. The one that just walked in stared at him for a while, before reeling around and dashing back out the doors.

"YOU!" Altaïr bellowed, leaping up from the table. Several assassins next to him jumped in surprise. He swiped a weighty loaf of bread before sprinting through the entrance, his white robes billowing behind him. Fahra and Kadar looked at each other, before getting up gracefully and following Altaïr. They rounded a corridor just in time to see Altaïr fling the bread at his victim, hitting him expertly in the head. The one in front suddenly tripped, falling to the ground and rolling to lessen the impact. Altaïr didn't waste a second, pushing his knee into his prey's chest, pinning him down.

"Tell me why I should not beat you to oblivion right now!" He demanded.

"Altaïr, surely you will not beat those who cannot properly fight back?" the figure on the ground struggled futilely.

"You threw a rock at my _head_!"

"You should have ducked!"

"Altaïr stop! Malik is injured!" Fahra shouted as Kadar tried to pull Altaïr off of his brother. Malik took this opportunity to wriggle out from under him.

"AH! My side!" He exclaimed, clutching at his side awkwardly.

"Nothing serious, is it?" Altaïr asked, hoping his outburst didn't add more onto the man's injuries.

"No, no, I will live, but this won't heal for a while, thanks to you." Malik groaned.

"Consider that payback then." The other assassin said with a hint of a smirk. Kadar let out a sigh of relief.

"So what happened on the mission? How did you get an arrow in the side?" He inquired.

"He was trying to show the guards just exactly how agile he is." Fahra said.

Malik pressed a hand to his midsection. "Was not."

"Really. Why in the world then did you not follow me and instead pick a route that ran in front of _three_ archers?" Fahra retorted, crossing her arms.

"What?" Altaïr said incredulously.

"What?" Kadar mirrored him.

Malik shot all three of them an angry glare.

"I'd rather not talk about it. But let's go back to the dining hall, before all the food's gone," he said sourly.


	5. Chapter 4

**CH 4**

A crowd gathered around the perimeter of the ring as Fahra and Kadar faced each other. They were about the same height, but one was a little bulkier than the other. Fahra suddenly went on the offense, bringing her blunted sword down swiftly. The other quickly parried the blow away, only to have his opponent swing the sword around, taking advantage of the trajectory. Kadar dodged back as the training sword slashed at his neck, missing his throat by millimeters. Fahra saw her opportunity, and reached forward to grab his collar. Stepping around him, she grunted as she swung her arm around, throwing Kadar into the railing. Not wasting a second, she lunged for him. Kadar ducked just in time under her sword. He clambered around her, and then kicked her hard in the back. She stumbled forward, but deftly pushed off the fence so he couldn't corner her. They circled each other now, moving with careful steps. Kadar's face was screwed up in concentration, the sweat on his forehead rolling down into his brow. Fahra's expression, on the other hand, was calm and calculating.

"Kadar, you lowly recruit, you aren't worth the dirt you step on!" She spat at him.

Kadar clenched his jaws but continued to watch her intensely.

"What are you waiting for? Are you scared, _coward_?" She hissed, her lips curling into a sneer.

"What?! I am no coward!" He roared in fury, pouncing forward, his blunt sword aimed straight for her stomach. She stayed exactly where she was, her eyes focused on his weapon. At the last second Fahra lightly stepped out of the way, smiling slyly at Kadar's surprised expression. She parried his weapon to the side and stuck a leg out in front of him, using his momentum against him. Kadar let loose a yell of frustration as he lost his balance and stumbled forward. He barely registered the hand that turned him around and the foot that kicked the back of his knee. Fahra towered over his kneeling form, her blunt sword slashing down towards the base of his neck. For a moment Kadar stared at her, terrified; she looked like she was actually going to carve his neck open. The blunt sword tapped gently against his skin, barely making a dent.

"And…you're dead." She smirked triumphantly, as applause and cheers went up around the ring. Kadar let out a small sigh of relief, glad that she refrained herself. The action over, the crowd gradually dispersed. Fahra sheathed her sword and walked over to the two assassins leaning against the rail. Kadar got up, brushed the sand off of his uniform, and then joined her.

"Kadar, you really need to keep your temper in check, otherwise you will quickly become vulnerable to your enemies." Altaïr said dryly. The young boy gave him an annoyed look.

"Don't be so hard on him, Altaïr, it's only been a month and he's making good progress." Fahra commended.

"Yeah, this time you actually had to say _two_ sentences!" Malik added with a grin, ruffling his brother's grey hood.

"Damn you two!" Kadar barked, batting away Malik's hand, "There's _always_ something wrong with what I do."

"Now, now, Kadar, you should be glad that we are willing to help you improve," Malik said, "Many of the novices here would kill for us to train them."

Kadar was about to retort when a man rushed up to them.

"Grand Professional Fahra, Al Mualim requests your presence in his study." The informer panted.

"Alright, I shall be there shortly, thank you."

"I'll take up training Kadar for the moment, Fahra," Altaïr swiftly offered. Fahra nodded, and then strode away, her steps springy with good spirits. Kadar groaned inwardly, knowing Altaïr's blows would not be nearly as merciful as Fahra's.

* * *

Almira sprinted down the hallway with the stack of freshly skinned leather that Raja had attacked her with. She was to deliver them to the leather craftsmen immediately, and Raja was waiting for her back at the butcher. The skins smelt awful, having been removed from their owners just this morning. She clutched tightly to the cloth bundling them together, being careful so as to avoid smearing dried blood on herself. "Running" errands was not a new thing now, with Raja seemingly bent on making her shed the extra weight. She panted heavily as her feet crossed corridor after corridor. If she took more time than the head maid deemed necessary, unpleasant things happened. Sadly, the older woman often thought that her maids were made of lightning. However, Al Mualim's gives them a pay that is higher than any other job available to women here. So high, in fact, that Almira could afford to rent a spacious room in the center of town.

Suddenly a door opened to her left. She tried to jump out of the way, but was much too late. Her shoulder slammed into the wood, making the door swing violently backwards. A howl of pain sounded behind her as she dashed away even faster. She probably just hit an assassin, meaning she had better disappear quickly.

Within the first two weeks she'd learned of the general attitude assassins had regarding servants, especially women servants. Twice she had almost gotten backhanded by high ranking brothers, had Ikram not dragged her out of their way. Later, when they were together doing menial tasks, she explained to her the workings of the Brotherhood.

"_Raja should have explained everything to you, but I see she has not, so I will. There are six ranks here," Ikram said as she swept the kitchen floor._

"_And there are also positions within ranks." The young girl continued. Almira brushed her trash into a big pile in the center of the empty kitchen._

_"Go on." She said, her back aching.  
_

"_There are the uninitiated recruits, who do not have a rank, then Novice, Apprentice, Professional, Expert, Elite, and Master."_

_Ikram paused, bending down to inspect a particularly stubborn dirt patch._

"_I think you should remember the order. If ever two assassins want you to do two different things, obey the one who ranks higher."_

"_How do I tell?" Almira questioned from the other side of the kitchen, starting a new pile._

"_The higher ranking brothers usually carry more weapons and equipments, and of course, they are usually older as well." Ikram stood up, stretching her back._

"_You said there are positions within ranks?" Almira asked after a moment of silence._

"_Ah, right, though it can be a little confusing at first. There are no other positions in novice, so it's just that. With Apprentices and Professionals there are two sub-ranks, High and Grand. So there's Apprentice, High Apprentice, and Grand Apprentice, same with the Professionals."_

"_So Professional, High Professional, and Grand Professional." Almira said as she swept half-heartedly._

"_Exactly." Ikram beamed, happy to teach._

"_Now, for the Expert rank, there's just Expert and Grand Expert, and the last two ranks are simply Elite and Master."_

_Almira repeated the different ranks and positions to herself, with Ikram correcting her every now and then. The kitchen was drastically cleaner by the time she committed everything to memory._

"_When you address an assassin, make sure to state their rank first, it's a sign of respect. With the uninitiated recruits and novices you can just say their name if you know it."_

"_I've seen a lot of boys wearing grey robes, are they the novices?" Almira asked._

"_Yes…and no. I'm sure you've noticed that many of them do not have a red sash on. The ones without are uninitiated, and not a part of the Brotherhood. The ones who wear grey robes and a red sash are novices."_

"_Okay," She nodded, "Also, recently I've seen some of them with bandaged left hands. What is it for?"_

_Ikram made a face. "It…has something to do with becoming novices and formally joining the Assassins. They cut the ring finger off of the left hand to, I don't know, show loyalty or something…."_

_Almira's broom swept much slower. All this time and she never noticed that ALL of the assassins were missing fingers!_

She cursed softly in relief as she slowed down; remembering to conserve her energy for all the other trips Raja was bound to send her on. She had turned several corners, just in case whoever she smacked the door into decided to give chase. Hearing nothing, she chanced a glance back. The hallway was empty, save the other servants who mostly ignored her. She sighed happily, her feet rounding another corner when…

"Arrggggh!"

…her wind was knocked out and all the bloody skins laid strew about the floor. Immediately, Almira felt her clothing tighten around her neck as she was dragged to her feet.

"Watch where you're going girl!" The assassin cursed in her face.

Almira apologized, looking up at the white clad figure when she noticed that this assassin was…

A girl.

_A girl? An Assassin?_

Not only was she a woman, but she had seen her before with Altaïr. Only all those times Almira had assumed that she was a "he". Many weapons hung off of her, and the silver crested scabbard by her side was all Almira needed to know that her rank was not low. She apologized profusely, to which the assassin poked her sharply with a finger.

"Look at the filth you were carrying! How am I to see Al Mualim like this?!" She pointed to a large brown patch where the skins must've smeared.

"I-I am so sorry!" Almira cried out, eyeing the woman's uniform, "uh…Professional-"

"-_Grand_ Professional Fahra! Please forgive her!"

Almira's heart leaped in relief; Ikram could not have chosen a better time to show up.

"Please, ma'am, she is new here, and does not yet know her way around."

The assassin regarded them with a disgusted look.

"Dirty filth, I have no time for this. Get out of my sight!" Fahra barked as she shoved them out of the way. They could hear her stomps all the way until the end of the hallway, where they finally faded away. Almira sighed, and then bent down to pick up the foul skins. Ikram helped her.

"Thank you." Almira said.

"That was Fahra, she's got quite the temper against servants." Ikram replied sourly.

"Is she an assassin?"

"Yes she is. Her parents were both assassins and now that her mother's gone, she is the only woman in the Brotherhood."

Ikram sighed wistfully, handing her friend a small pile of skins. "I wish I was given the chance to join them."

It was then that Almira noticed the dark, prominent circles under the young girl's eyes, as well as the too-pale complexion.

"Ikram, are you alright? You don't look too well."

"Raja wants me dead! I swear it!" Ikram exclaimed, rubbing her temples with a hand.

Almira carefully placed the pile onto the floor, and then moved to the girl's side.

"What happened?"

"She reassigned me to sewing duty, knowing that I can never sew half as well as the other girls. I haven't slept much for the past week and I'm not allowed into the dining hall today until I finish my second uniform…"

Ikram suddenly started sobbing, and Almira tried her best to comfort her.

"Why don't you let her know? That your talent isn't with sewing?" She asked gently.

"She assigned me to clean the _bathrooms_ the last time I tried."

Ikram looked at her miserably, and then shook her head.

"As well, if I try again, she might fire me. No, I'd rather have this than risk the wellbeing of my family."

Almira nodded; since she had no one else to support, her pay allowed her to rent a pleasant room in the best district of Masyaf. Ikram, on the other hand, had to help her parents feed their large family. She gave the young girl a hug, and then remembered that she had a stack of skins to deliver.

"I'm sorry, Ikram, but if I don't go back to Raja in time…"

"No, I understand. I have to go back to the tailor room anyway."

Ikram helped getting the pile firmly into Almira's hands, and then remembered something. She told of it to her friend, who was glad to receive the information. The conversation over, they went their separate ways.

* * *

Fahra continued down the hallway at a brisk pace, her mood ruined by the collision earlier. She stopped by a small wash area, attempting to get the ugly brown smear off of her clothing. Why did the servants always get in her way? She should have taught that girl a lesson for being so careless when carrying such dirty packages. Under her vigorous scrubbing, some of the brown matter disappeared, leaving behind a light stain. Seeing that it won't get any cleaner, she cursed angrily and left, trusting that the wet patch will dry soon in the heat. As she turned into a smaller corridor she saw a familiar figure walking unsteadily towards her, though it didn't seem to see her.

"Rauf, are you alright?"

Rauf looked up and Fahra gasped. He held a hand to his face, but she could see the blood seeping out. His dark grey robes were covered with bright crimson dots.

"Oh…I thunk mye nuse is bruken." He moaned in pain.

"What happened? Did you get into a fight?" She asked incredulously. Actually, Fahra couldn't imagine the young boy getting into a fight with anyone, despite the talent he obviously has.

Rauf tried to explain, but with his nose all clogged up he sounded like a dying cow. Fahra finally told him to stop after the second attempt, dragging him into the bathroom she'd visited earlier. After making sure that nothing was life threatening, she left him be. He could make it on his own to the fortress's healer if needed. She walked fast, hoping that Al Mualim won't be too irritated at her for showing up late.


	6. Chapter 5

**CH 5**

Altaïr went over the mission details in his mind as he strode into the stable. It's been almost two months since his last assignment, and he was eager to be off. Malik's arrow wound was healing much slower than normal, the cause of which he promptly placed on Altaïr. Not much happened in the fortress, and he, along with Malik and Fahra, had spent a great deal of the time helping Kadar improve. To say the truth life was getting quite boring, which was why he was so ecstatic when Al Mualim sent him on another mission.

The pleasant scent of fresh hay hit his nose the moment he stepped into the barn. He glanced around, searching for the person to ask for his transportation.

"Altaïr, welcome, how may I be of service?" An elderly man walked out of the barn.

"Ahmed, I need to get to Amman as fast as possible."

"Ah, I see. Wait here, I shall bring you a suitable horse."

Ahmed turned and disappeared into the barn corridor. At this moment, another servant walked in, leading a muscular black horse. The figure stopped, and then tilted her head at him.

"Grand Professional Altaïr, good morning." She addressed him confidently, trusting in the information her friend gave her.

"Almira." He acknowledged, earning a surprised smile from her; she didn't expect him to remember her name. He noted that she had changed since he brought her here. Long hours of work had pulled the fat off of her, making her look lean and sharp. He has not spoken to her since coming back to Masyaf, though he did spot her every now and then going around the fortress.

"Where are you off to?" She asked, resting a hand on the horse's arched neck.

"Why? Can a man not come here simply to ride for pleasure?" Altaïr asked in return.

"Raja placed me here for almost a month already, but I have not seen you come here once." She said, running her hand through the thick mane. Altaïr only scratched his head, knowing that she had a point.

"What kind of horse is that?" He suddenly asked.

"I would like to believe that he is a Friesi-…" She stopped, as if about to say something she shouldn't.

"He is a horse of the Templars, brought here about two months ago."

Altaïr stepped to the side to get a better look at the black gelding. Its withers was about as tall as his chin, with a build slightly heavier than the typical Arabian. Thick mane and tail adored its body, and hairs covered its large feet.

"So where are you off to?" Almira asked again after a couple of seconds.

He contemplated for a moment whether or not to tell her. After all, she could be a traitor who'll alert his target that an assassin was after him.

"Amman." He finally said, blaming his previous thought on paranoia.

"Amman!" She repeated, "I've heard of it, people say it is a beautiful city."

At this moment Ahmed came back out, the sound of hooves following him.

"A Hamdani mare, is she not?" Almira pointed at the refined horse behind the old man.

"Yes, that she is," Ahmed replied in a pleased tone, "Now Almira, shouldn't you be cleaning that poor beast of yours?"

Almira blinked, and then quickly excused herself, leading her tall charge away. Ahmed turned his attention back to Altaïr, handing him the reins.

"This is Reem, she will take you to Amman."

Altaïr instantly stiffened; if the horse was important enough for Ahmed to speak the name of, then he probably also has a story to tell. He thanked the horseman quickly and then proceeded to lead his mount out of the shed, hoping to get away as fast as possible.

"Altaïr, wait!"

Altaïr turned slowly, fearing what was about to come. "…yes?"

"Do you know who Hamdani was?" The old man inquired with a smile on his weathered face.

The assassin let out a breath of relief; at least Ahmed won't be giving him a new lesson this time. "Hamdani, one of the five mares that returned to Muhammad?"

"Oh praise Allah!" Ahmed exclaimed, "You actually remembered!"

_It's quite easy actually, when you get taught several times_, Altaïr thought as he waited for the inevitable story of the mare's glories.

The old man smiled pleasantly, scratching his chin. "Reem is one of the few _asil _mares here, tracing back to the loyal Hamdani herself. She possesses great speed and stamina, more than enough to make her ancestors proud. I dare say she might even look like the old Hamdani, if descriptions are anything to go by. She will take you to Amman and back within a week."

"A week is it?" Altaïr repeated, "The journey takes even the best horses four days to travel one way."

"Reem is better than the best, a mare suited for only the very best riders." Ahmed declared.

"Oh? And am I one of them?" Altaïr asked humorously.

"No," the old man said dryly, "But you are courteous enough to your mounts, and Reem has been fretting for a journey."

Suddenly the old man's face became solemn. "Please, young master, take care of her, for she is with foal, and is extremely valuable to me."

Altaïr studied the tall Arabian mare in front of him. She was blood red in coloring, with a light blond mane and tail. Her head was handsome, almost masculine looking and without a prominent bulge in the forehead. The muscles beneath her shoulder rippled as she stamped a hoof, impatient to get going. With a leap he caught the stirrup and mounted, while the mare beneath him shifted with anticipation. Ahmed crossed his arms and waited for him to depart, though he had seen too many assassins for Altaïr's skill to impress him. With a gentle kick Reem took off, kicking up clouds of dust in her wake. Altaïr smiled, happy to be back in a saddle, and looking forward to the skyline of Amman.

* * *

"Wait, you _talked _to him?"

"I led Sofian in and he was just there. I can't really ignore him, that would be impolite." Almira shrugged, putting some strength into the brush.

"What was he like?" Ikram asked eagerly.

Raja had finally transferred her out of sewing duty for good after a few of her products fell apart during the initial wash. She had dreaded that the old witch would transfer her to clean the bathrooms, but Raja thought of something better. She assigned Ikram to the stables, knowing that her tiny frame is ill-suited to cleaning stalls and battling stubborn horses. Luckily, Almira was there to help.

For the next half an hour while she bathed and cleaned the horse, Ikram bombarded her with questions and opinions about Altaïr. Almira swears she has a crush on just about every assassin in the entire fortress. Ikram was so different; whereas other maids would keep their infatuations to themselves, she had no qualms about telling. This made her quite lonely, since most girls regarded her talk as "shameful" and would hear none of it.

"Ikram, you should be cleaning Sofian _with _me." Almira grumbled, cutting off Ikram's question. The young girl sighed, and then moved to the horse's neck, brushing the thick mane half-heartedly.

"I keep waiting for the day when Raja assigns me to the bathrooms." She mourned.

"Raja…I don't even know what goes on in her mind. She loathes me for no reason, and you as well it seems," Almira sighed, "It's good that I actually like working here."

"Remember to never tell her that, or she'll transfer you in a heartbeat."

Almira frowned. "Why does she do this? It makes no sense to give people jobs they can't do well at; it's terribly inefficient and creates resentment."

"Actually, she's wonderful with other girls, girls who can do everything _and_ sew well, but she hates me because I can't make my needles work." Ikram said angrily, "At least these animals don't make my fingers bleed."

They worked in silence for a couple of minutes. Ikram started brushing Sofian's forelock.

"His head is so…flat." She said, half to herself, "And what's with all that hair on his feet?"

"The Crusaders have different ideals for their horses." Almira's voice came from the other end; she was brushing his thick tail.

"He's a Templar horse?" Ikram studied Sofian, while he looked back with curious brown eyes.

"According to Ahmed," Almira said, trying to remember, "Sofian was brought here from Acre by the assassins. He looks to be-…"

What Sofian looked to be, Ikram never found out, for at that moment the shrill scream of a horse sliced through the calm barn. Both she and Ikram looked towards the other end of the barn, where it led to a corral. They stood unmoving, wondering whether or not that shriek of agony was real. Several minutes later another screech torn through the air, followed by whinnies of displeasure. Almira quickly came to her senses and dashed towards the corral, Ikram following her several steps behind. What greeted Almira's eyes made her stop in her tracks, and then to run even faster.

An assassin wearing white robes was atop a young bay mare, yanking mercilessly on a long-shanked curb bit. The horse's mouth was gaped open, the eyes white with fear and anger. Her legs plodded around uncoordinated as she flailed her head wildly in response to the taut reins. The man on her back cursed fervently, jerking the reins from side to side; bright red blood started to pour from the corners of the mare's mouth. She tossed her head and tried to rear, at the same time letting out another piercing cry. The man responded by giving another sharp yank on the reins. The bit port slammed the roof of her mouth, cutting short her scream and making the young horse gag.

"Oh God…stop it! Stop it!" Almira shouted, arriving just in time to see him yank the bit so hard that the young horse threatened to fall over.

"Go away, girl! Can't you see I'm busy!?" The man spat, his eyes gleaming with anger. The mare's bloodstained tongue lolled out, flopping madly as she twisted and turned in an effort to lessen the agony.

Almira hissed angrily, her hand brought itself up and flung a brush she didn't know she had at the man's head. Her aim was surprisingly good.

The man was stunned for a moment, his hand slowly migrating away from the reins and towards the throbbing sensation on his head. His mare sensed the sudden slack and took her opportunity. She lowered her head and heaved her hind end up, producing a powerful buck that neatly unseated her rider. The assassin hovered above the ground for a second, before smacking into it with a loud "thud". He coughed on the dirt kicked up by the mare as she quickly skittered to the furthest corner.

Almira's eyes went wide and she slowly backed away, registering the magnitude of what she'd just done. Ikram frantically tugged on her arm, trying to drag her away. The man was up in a flash and descended upon them like a cougar, his teeth bared in a primal snarl.

"YOU!" He backhanded Almira with such force that she stumbled to the ground.

"Please, don't hurt her!" Ikram pleaded, place half of her body between him and Almira.

"Go _away_, or I'll tear your head off as well!" He roared.

Ikram whimpered but didn't move. He raised his hand again, as if to strike her. She cowered at this, giving him a look of pure fear before fleeing into the barn.

The assassin turned to Almira, who had gotten up and had backed away close to where the mare was. She noted that he carried no short sword, meaning that he was an Apprentice.

_Meaning he's had enough training to rip me to shreds_.

The whites of the mare's eyes showed again and she panicked. Out of desperation she jumped the fence, snapping it in half as she smacked the top rail with her forelegs. She stumbled on landing but quickly recovered, and then bolted off into the desert with her tack flying wildly about.

Almira just barely missed the frantic hooves when the man punched her in the stomach. She doubled over, winded from the force. He brought another fist down on her back, making her collapse onto the ground

"Insolent wench!" He spat, before grabbing a fistful of her black hair and dragging her with it. Almira let loose a scream from the pain, earning herself a fist to the cheek.

"How_ dare_ you raise a hand to me, woman!" He snarled, ignoring her cries and continuing to drag her by her hair.

"I'll see to it that you get _executed_ for this." He hissed lowly, his features twisted with fury.

"But you were-…"

"Shut up! You'll not sully my ears!" He yelled, kicking her in the side. She recoiled from the pain and whimpered, her body aching from the abuse.

"Abbas, what in the world are you doing!?" A voice sounded off in the distance.

"This servant dared to hit me!" Her tormentor bellowed, stopping in his tracks.

Footsteps came closer, and she realized that her hair had fallen down: Abbas had loosened his grip.

"Why are you dragging her like this?"

"Malik, this woman is aggressive and disrespectful! She dares to hit an _assassin_!"

There was a pause. "Alright, I shall take care of her."

"No, I will take her to Raja."

"Abbas, my wound may keep me from full training, but you have better things to do. Why are you here anyway? Surely Altaïr has taught you things that require practice?"

There was a moment of tense silence. "See to it that Raja punishes her fully."

"I will, now go do whatever it is that you are supposed to be doing."

Almira saw the boots beside her walk away. She held one hand to her split lips, and then got up.

"Good, you can walk. Now come with me, I trust that my brother will not lie to me." Malik said in an annoyed voice.

"But…but Abbas was ruining one of the fin-…"

"Do I look like a servant maid to you?" he snapped, "And you do not address an assassin by their name, woman."

She quieted, noting that he was one of the assassins that Altaïr was often seen with. They walked the rest of the way in silence, with her trying to stop the blood that was pouring out of her lips. Almira's mind churned with anger; for the inability to control herself, she'll probably be cleaning the bathrooms now.

* * *

"I did not send for anyone." The older man said as they entered the study. He looked up from a parchment in his hands, before slowly lowering it to the table. Almira tried to hide her battered face by lowering her head.

"Malik. Explain."

"She assaulted a brother, Master," Malik said before she could respond, "Abbas, she attacked him, so he disciplined her."

Al Mualim's brows furrowed into a frown, his expression darkening.

"My apologies, Master," Malik bowed, "I was going to bring her to Raja and not disturb you, but I…I couldn't find Raja."

Al Mualim held up a hand for Malik to stop talking, and then turned to Almira. "You attacked one of us? We who took you away from your life of slavery?"

Almira kept her eyes trained to the floor; she didn't dare look at him.

"Silence is just another form of assent, girl. You will be punished, and not by Raja, but by me."

_Holy crap, this is not going well. _Her heart rate raced through the roof.

"I am so sorry, Master…I was only doing what I thought was right." She said shakily, forcing herself to make eye contact.

He scoffed and regarded her with detest.

"Go on."

She breathed in relief, glad that he was at least willing to listen. She told him everything that led up to the unfortunate events while Al Mualim studied her intently, trying to find any hint of falsehood in her speech.

"…I simply could not stand by and watch, Master. But I promise it will never, never happen again." She finished meekly, her gaze wavering under his piercing eye.

Al Mualim's frown stayed where it was, making her feel more and more uneasy as the seconds passed. The words of Abbas resounded in her mind and she shivered. Would he really execute her? Malik stood off to the side, watching silently.

"Malik, do you corroborate with her story?" Al Mualim asked.

"Only to a certain extent," Malik responded, "Abbas was indeed at the stables when he had no business there that I know of."

Al Mualim nodded, but his disapproving gaze did not fade. "Regardless of your motives, you have attacked one of my men. You will be punished with fifteen lashes to the back and two weeks without pay."

Almira stopped breathing. She could only look wide-eyed at the Master.

Suddenly someone shouted in the hall; an old voice, but carried with it a clear tone of anger. Fast footsteps became louder and louder, approaching them. All three people in the study turned to the door and Al Mualim scowled, having had enough dramatic disturbances in one day. Almira saw Malik's hand go instinctively to the sword at his side.

Ahmed stormed into the room, followed by a terrified Ikram.

"Al Mualim!" The elderly man roared, stunning everyone with his blatant disregard of the Master's title.

"Ahmed, what is this about?" Al Mualim said irritatingly.

The old man strode up in front of the Grand Master's desk. Malik made a move to prevent him, earning himself a glare of daggers from Ahmed.

"Your assassin, Abbas, has chased away one of my most prized horses!" Ahmed shouted, "Yasmin's blood is even purer than Reem's! Your boy has cost me a priceless war mare!"

Al Mualim looked taken aback for a moment and threw a glance at Almira. He got up from his desk.

Ahmed backed away, starting to pace around the table. "I strengthen Masyaf's steeds, but your men must at least be civil to my horses!"

"Will you do nothing?" Ahmed said, his anger now lined with an edge of trepidation when Al Mualim merely rested his hands on the desk, frowning deeply.

"Now that you've calmed a little, tell me what happened."

Ahmed's lips twinged. "I shall then. Altaïr had just taken off with Reem when this girl," He gestured quickly to Ikram, "came to fetch me. That despicable Abbas had taken Yasmin without my permission! She is gone now, fled into the desert! The Crusader torturing device was missing from my cabinet and I pray to Allah that her mouth is not ruined. Worse still, if Yasmin comes back in foal to a bastard, I will have no way of replacing her! She is priceless! More valuable than my children!"

Al Mualim's brows furrowed even deeper, his eyes were hard with anger. "I believe you. Abbas will be severely punished for taking your property without permission. I will send out scouts to search for Yasmin, as I also know of her worth."

Ahmed scoffed, but now looked more worried than angry. "I will also search for her as soon as we are finished, perhaps she hasn't gone far."

"Ahmed, you are almost into your seventh decade!" Al Mualim replied swiftly, alarmed, "Stay here, my scouts _will_ find her."

"No, I will not rest easy here. Moreover, Yasmin may come to me, but not to your unfamiliar riders."

Before Al Mualim could retort, Ahmed pointed to Almira.

"The girl informed me that it was Almira who stopped that boy. I want her transferred to the stables permanently."

Almira's heart skipped a beat. On the table now there were the best and worst outcomes of today's events. She waited with baited breath, willing Al Mualim to nod his head. After what seemed like an eternity, the Master finally spoke.

"Very well, she will work under you from now on. But Ahmed, I implore you to see reason, there is no-"

"Al Mualim, Master, thank you for granting my request but no, my decision is set. I cannot rest easy here knowing that Yasmin is out there," Ahmed said, his face set and determined, "She can take care of herself, I'm sure of it, but the purity of her blood is also at stake here."

Al Mualim studied him thoroughly, and then sighed sadly, knowing that his words can do nothing.

"Be careful then, my friend."

Ahmed turned and gestured to both Almira and Ikram, signaling them to leave as well. Almira bowed to Al Mualim, thanking him for transferring her before leaving. Once out the door, her steps immediately turned springy. The joyful feeling even made her aches and bruises hurt less. Ikram, on the other hand, was dazed and simply relieved to not be in trouble. They arrived to the stable in silence. The other stable hands were horrified at Ahmed's request, some outright refusing to help him saddle a horse. Almira and Ikram reluctantly helped him onto the back of his horse, both knowing that one fall is all it takes.

"Look after the stables just like before," Ahmed ordered, "I will be back as soon as I find her."

Before they can speak, the old man launched his mount into a canter. Ahmed looked almost youthful in the saddle, riding off in perfect rhythm with his horse.

* * *

_Note: Happy New Year! _

_As always, please review! I know this story is moving pretty slow right now but I'll be trying to amp it up as I write. Anything I should improve? Please let me know! :)  
_


	7. Chapter 5 and a half

**CH 5.5 **

I hurried down the well-lit hallways, my heels making dull "thuds" on the hard carpets. In my hands I held two months' worth of sleepless nights and coffee-filled days. The carbon-sheet computer flapped against the wind created by my running-walking down the hallway.

We had made a major discovery. By major I mean it would save me and my team at least five years' work, and many many failures. I had found Skylea Zander's earliest formulation, the very template upon which my friend had made the technological advancement of the century. Ironically, we were about to throw that disk into the incinerator when I decided to do one last search.

Disk C6.

Zander had mentioned it a few years back, before we were teenagers, which was the only reason I had gone for a last look. C6 was a graveyard of her creation. Literally hundreds of thousands of files dumped there when she had no more use for them. I found that most were useless trash mixed with random bits of programmed games and some half-finished photomanipulation. A labyrinth that hid the one file which contained a lifetime of research. When I saw it, I went to wash my face to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. We all thought Skylea had destroyed everything that had anything to do with her research.

I stopped at the steely door at the end of the hallway. It was well polished, allowing me to see the dark circles underneath my eyes despite my attempts at concealing them. The shiny black plate on the door read DIRECTOR. I took in a deep breath, and then knocked.

The door opened almost immediately. "Finally. I was almost going to look for you."

"Director Stence, You are not going to believe this." I said. I know I told him that already on the holograph phone, but I couldn't help myself. Director Erinen Stence gaze tiredly down at me. He, like many here, had a haggard expression, and with good reason. They had given us two months to comb through the wreck Skylea had left behind, and the deadline was looming.

I handed him the paper thin computer, on which was displayed a series of familiar handwriting and lines of codes. He accepted it, his eyes fritting over the screen.

"Do you have an explanation for this?"

"I think this is the first concrete advancement in Skylea's research. I found it on disk C6 with all of the other trash files she'd dumped over the years. This, of course, isn't trash by any means."

Stence didn't reply. His eyes were widening by the minute.

"Is this for real?" He finally asked, using a finger to scroll down.

"The physics matches what I know as of now, and everything else makes sense. I think I can use this as a starting point to recreate what Skylea had already done. Using her own work might get us there faster than starting from scratch." I said.

The director again didn't reply. I leaned against the metallic doorframe. These past two months of endless work had taken its toll on me.

"Alright, you are a go." He laid the computer flat on his palm and swiped across the screen several times with his other hand. "I've copied this onto my computer. I'll look through it now. Go get started on the actual project."

I took my computer back and rolled it into a scroll. Erinen Stence was already on the way to his glass desk and I knew I should be leaving too. But I had something else to share with him.

"Director Stence?"

He turned around.

"I...found something else, when I did her calculations."

He nodded with a "uh-huh".

"I worked out the maximum force the portal could sustain without breaking, and I found that the energy released during the destruction had a disturbance force less than the maximum." I finished, hoping Stence would get the obvious conculsion.

The director's brows furrowed as a flurry of emotions crossed his face. First, there was disbelief, then shock, joy, concern, and finally his features were unnervingly blank.

"So there's a chance the portal remained intact while she was in it?" He asked flatly in his low voice.

"Yes, and Skylea is alive right now." I said.

Erinen merely shook his head, sighing sorrowfully.

"What?" I stared wide-eyed at him. Something was wrong, and I knew it wasn't my math, "If the portal remained intact, then Skylea would've gotten through unharmed. It's only logical."

"Chen, you were not required to learn history, so I won't hold it against you," He said quietly, "According to the data you've given me, Zander was right in the middle of a warzone. Who knows what might've happened after all this time?"

His words echoed in my head. _After all this time._

I had forgotten it's been almost a year. The eight months I've spent underground in a bunker was an unmemorable blur. But still, I had found a glimmer of hope that my friend was still alive, how cruel of him to shatter my hopes like that? I clutched onto the computer scroll with both hands, staring at the hard floor. Director Erinen Stence crossed the room, placing a large hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry Chen. Your profile didn't say anything, but I know you were close with Zander. These past two months had been hard, and finally we have something to show for it. Go take a day off, rest." He commanded softly.

I nodded, turning away into the white-lit hallway. I could hear a door hiss pneumatically somewhere on the other side of the building. As the director's door closed behind me the entire world suddenly seemed to swirl wildly. The rolled-up computer fell to the floor harmlessly and I leaned against a wall, steadying myself until the dizzy spell went away.

Despite what the director said about wars, I feel that there might be a chance my friend is still alive. All I need to do is reinvent the technology she'd destroyed, rediscover the knowledge that she'd buried. I bent down and picked up the sheet of PC. I have no idea how I'm going to use the treasure I'd found today and in any case, I didn't care right now. I desperately needed a good night's sleep.


	8. Chapter 6

**CH 6**

Altaïr waited patiently as he balanced himself precariously on the rafters, waiting for his prey to come in. His last assignment, the one in Amman, had been too easy; so much that the difficulty of this one seemed to compensate for that one. It had been fine getting the whereabouts of his target, but he spent almost an entire day looking for a way in; the fortress had a guard for every brick used to build it. And now that he was in, it would be hard to get out without an angry army pursuing him. He shook his head and looked down into the empty room, fingering his knives in boredom.

Originally, he was supposed to have a partner but in a way, he was glad that his student managed to get himself kicked to the stables. The young, inexperienced assassin would only have been a burden to him. Abbas refused to talk about it, and from what rumors he'd heard a servant girl was involved. In any case, his lessons would be suspended for the time being, meaning that Altaïr will have extra time. He thought about hanging around Fahra, but she unfortunately will have students to teach.

Speaking of Fahra, Altaïr's mind wandered. Recently, he found that he couldn't look at her without his stomach flipping over, which irked him greatly. They had practically grown up together, and they were friends, so why was he acting in such an embarrassing fashion? So far, to his relief, Fahra seemed not to notice.

Altaïr shifted his footing, trying to ease the dull ache resulted from remaining in his position for hours. He was beginning to fear that maybe his target won't show up, though his informants had assured him that the man will go home today after a party. Sunlight shone through the elaborately crafted window frame, illuminating the tiger fur that was spread haphazardly on the floor. Drunk and merry voices grew steadily louder and traveled easily into the room through the thick oak doors. The assassin sighed in relief; his target would be here soon, and all he needed to do was get that feather red.

* * *

Almira stopped at a particular stall, while a refined head poked out from within. Sofian lowered his head into her chest, giving her a friendly nuzzle and earning some pats from her. She gave him an apple before going back to work. The gelding watched her as she walked away, savoring his apple and then retreated back into his small, dark stall. Somewhere in the barn an angry shout sounded, followed by another equally impatient voice.

Abbas and another stable hand.

Almira frowned in distain. The punishment for the young Apprentice was quickly turning into punishment for all the stable hands as well from his disagreeable temperament. She shook her head, and then walked down the barn, heading for the feed room. This would be her last day in the stable for the week. She'll have to answer to Raja for the other three days.

Although Al Mualim had agreed to transfer her, Raja had interfered, citing that she was the overseer of all servants. Apparently, Almira had become one of the head maid's fastest runners, and she wasn't going to let her leave so easily. Al Mualim had far more important things to worry about, and so gave the matter for Ahmed and Raja to sort it out amongst themselves. In the end they struck a deal: Almira would work four days in the stables and three under Raja. It was an unpleasant thought to have to listen to the bitter woman again, but three days a week was tolerable. In any case, it also kept her close to Ikram.

Yasmin tossed her head up as she passed her stall, the corners of her mouth were grossly crusted and scabbed over. She offered a hand to stroke her but the mare shied away, eyeing her warily. Almira had to admit that they underestimated Ahmed. The elderly man had taken his horse up into the dangerous mountain paths, all the while calling out for his beloved mare. At noon on the third day they were greeted with an exuberant Ahmed confidently atop his mount, leading Yasmin through the city gates. Everyone around the stable was shocked, to say the least, as they had fully expected having to go search for the old man's body.

"Ahmed?"

Almira stiffened in sorting out the hay, turning her head ever so slightly.

"Where is Ahmed?"Abbas asked.

"Ahmed has back pain, been having it ever since he brought Yasmin back. He couldn't get up today." She said calmly, while her mind hurled obscenities at the man in grey.

Abbas looked around, as if expecting Ahmed to hide amongst the feed. "That is unfortunate, I was just going to tell him that I am finished for the day."

"Actually, you're not finished." She said unsmilingly, turning around. Her face and body had healed amazingly fast, though the foul memories stayed.

"What did you say, girl?" Abbas said darkly. Almira suppressed a shudder, fighting the jitters in her stomach.

"Hamal, Rasil, and Qais had gone away for Makkah. Ahmed wishes that you carry on their duties." She replied, pleased at the shocked look on his face.

"He'd have me do the work of _three_ men!?" He exclaimed, "I am an _assassin_! I have my training to worry about!"

She stared at him, wishing he could disappear from her sight. "It is what Ahmed wishes."

Abbas clenched his fists in anger. An uncomfortable feeling crept into Almira's gut. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but then close it. He turned to leave, mumbling angrily to himself.

"Abbas." Almira said, louder than she'd intended.

"What!" He hissed in irritation.

"Leave the Crusader horse be, he is mine and I shall take care of him."

The white-robed man grumbled unintelligibly before trudging away. She watched him disappear around a corner before finishing up sorting the hay. Sofian, of course, wasn't actually hers, but she was the only person who took a liking to him. Instead of the typical Arabian's spirited edginess, he radiated calm intellect. The horse seemed more suitable as the regal mount of a king than living here in Masyaf. Unfortunately, the only use Ahmed had for him was plowing the fields.

She packed the hay onto a small cart, and then went to prepare a mash for Yasmin; the mare's mouth was so damaged that hay stalks hurt her.

* * *

Altaïr raced out onto the streets, as an army poured out from the alleyway behind him. The feather was tucked away securely, soaked in still-drying blood.

His target had come in reeking of alcohol, and then just flopped down limply onto his silky bed. It was almost disappointing to see the man in such a state, after all the trouble the assassin had gone through to get to him. The man turned over onto his back, his eyes seeing but not registering the eagle of death that crouched above him. Altaïr jumped down from the beams, landing at the foot of the bed. His prey turned his head, watching him blearily, slowly recognizing the glinting blade and missing finger.

Altaïr was tainting the feather when two guards decided to check on their master. He immediately silenced one with his hidden blade, but the other managed to scamper out the door, screaming murder at the top of his lungs. By the time he thrown a lethal knife, the entire fortress plus all of its ghosts had been alerted.

Altaïr planted a foot firmly onto the stack of boxes that rested beside a wall, propelling himself into the air. A metal bar came to meet his outstretched hands, allowing him to swing onto a narrow beam that stuck out. Altaïr scanned his surroundings quickly, finding a way out of the chaotic mess following him. His target had kept a large stockpile of skillful soldiers, and they managed to get the city guards involved in the chase. Several guards bounced onto the crates after him, flying through the air with almost as much agility as he. Altaïr turned around and socked an airborne guard in the eye, dropping him like a struck pig onto his comrades. Not wasting another moment, the assassin whirled around and sprinted swiftly across the narrow wood, his body balanced perfectly. At the end of the rafter he leaped onto the rooftop, hoping to lose the guards there.

A "whoosh!" flew past his leg, nicking the fabric.

_Dammit!_

Quickly he changed course, breaking the archers' line of sight. Up here, there were no civilians blocking his path, allowing him to run to his full potential. His strides widened, sprinting across the rooftops with amazing speed. Behind him the angry cries of his pursuers grew somewhat fainter.

Another "whoosh" and an arrow shaft protruded from his right hand.

Altaïr cursed and tried to pull it out, to discover that it had gone through. There was no pain, no doubt masked by the massive amounts of adrenaline pumping through his body right now. More arrows flew past him. He cradled his hand, trying not the let the shaft sway with his momentum and create more damage. Below him, he could see groups of guards rushing through the streets, trying to cut him off. However, they couldn't see exactly where he was heading, which gave him an advantage since he could see their movements clearly. He leaped down onto the ground, rolling on impact and groaning as the arrow snapped, opening the wound further. He quickly pulled out the remainder, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to shake off the pain. At the sight of blood, the guards behind him followed even more fervently, jumping off the roof like lemmings off a cliff.

The afternoon sun baked down on Altaïr as he sprinted through the city. The chase had gone on for what seemed like hours, though the sun had only moved slightly from its original spot. His muscles were starting to ache but the guards weren't letting on, in fact, they seemed to be gathering steam as more and more soldiers from all over the city joined in. Citizens screamed their heads off in terror and hurried out of the way as he maneuvered through them. The ones who weren't fast enough were mercilessly shoved aside by his murderous pursuers. He turned left at a large crossroad, then right, and ran into the bustling market, hoping the sheer amount of people there would slow them down.

It worked. Almost.

A vast majority of the soldiers were blocked by the mass of citizens, but the talented few weaved through the people as Altaïr did. Faced with a sudden legion of seething guards, panic spread through the shoppers like wildfire. The people stampeded around the enclosed structure and collided into one another, knocking down merchant stalls whilst screaming in hysteria. Fortunately, the guards were eager to let them pass in an effort to lessen their own obstacles. The white clad assassin moved deftly through the shoppers, distancing himself every second from his pursers. The soldiers who were initially blocked quickly appeared at the other exits, effectively sealing the market. Citizens barged through them, some carrying stolen wares while others punching any who got in their way. The soldiers still on Altaïr's heels smirked triumphantly. They've got him cornered now.

Or so they thought.

Altaïr stepped onto a stack of creates and leaped up onto a beam, much like he did before. The grins on his guards' faces instantly disappeared as he started bounding from beam to beam with renewed strength, getting closer to the exit all the while. The ones at the end swiped their swords upward in a vain attempt to stop him as he jumped well out of their reach, his bloody hand dripping a droplet onto one of the swords. He rolled again, getting up and disappeared around a corner before the guards had even lowered their swords.

"AFTER HIM!" Their leader shouted from within the market, his face livid.

As if on cue, the ones guarding the exit turned on their heels and rushed into the small street. No signs of their quarry met their eyes as they ran deeper into the alley, searching every nook and cranny for a sigh of white. Their leader, a burly man, grew more furious with every passing minute. The street turned off into many smaller branches and he sent groups of three or four down each one. He led the remaining guards down the original route, which twisted and turned until it ended in a small, shadowy courtyard. The lead soldier gritted his teeth, barking at his subordinates to search the place over.

Ten feet away, in a fresh pile of hay, lay Altaïr. He had discovered to his dismay that the walls here were too high to climb in time. This pile of hay, newly placed this morning, was lifesaving. His right hand throbbed painfully, further irritated by the dust and stalks in his hiding place. The assassin took care not to breath too fast, his eyes peering through a small gap in the stalks at the harried guards.

One of them ventured over, perplexed by something. The young soldier bent down and inspected what appears to be a bloodstained straw. When he raised his head, a killer's eye stared back at him through a gap in the haystack. His breathing instantly stopped, and sweat started forming in his palms. Surely his life is now forfeit, he thought as he froze in his half-bent position.

"Have you found something?"

His comrade's voice made him jump. The man turned his head slightly, but didn't break eye contact with the dark eye inside the haystack. He'd be dead the moment he gave away the killer's position, he knew. But then, there was the duty that he'd sworn to perform. His mouth felt incredibly dry so he merely shook his head, walking back to the safety of numbers.

"My friends." he croaked, his voice on the verge of breaking. He shuffled all the way to the very back of the group, and then whirled around, pointing a shaky finger at the haystack.

"ASSASSIN!"

The hay exploded before he had finished the word. Altaïr leaped out, pulling out his trusty sword. The wound in his right hand reopened, smearing fresh blood all over the leather hilt. He buried the metal inside the nearest guard before the group had time to react. With a slight grunt he pulled the sword out, allowing the body to fall convulsing to the ground. The rest of the guards formed a rough circle around him, stepping over their fallen comrade. One of them reached out to try and grab the assassin, while a guard directly behind Altaïr lunged forward. Altaïr dodged the grab, but the sword behind him sliced a gash in his side, making him wince. Their leader, the same burly man, tried to make the most of this small victory.

"Come on! We've got him cornered now! Backup is on the way!" He hollered, gesturing with both hands in the air.

Altaïr took his opportunity. He lunged forward, his sword slashing down sideways, opening a huge gash in the leader's chest. The head guard seemed too shocked to register the pain, his hands still trying to bring his own sword up in a clumsy attempt at evading the oncoming weapon. Altaïr parried the attack away, plunging his blood-stained blade straight into the man's gut. He heaved the sword up, and then kicked the man away. The burly soldier knelt on the ground, coughing blood, his uniform quickly turning into a disturbing maroon coloring. He swayed unsteadily, and then fell over backwards, convulsing uncontrollably. With a final guttural cough, he laid still. Dead.

The remaining guards stared on dumbly, stunned by how easily their enemy had killed their leader. Altaïr didn't give them a chance to gather clouds of anger. He whirled around, slashing open a guard's throat. The force made him spin sideways, spraying crimson all over his terrified brother in arms. One of the soldiers roared, charging forward like a madman. Altaïr saw him out of the corner of his eye, noting every weakness in the soldier's posture. The soldier bellowed in both rage and fear, swinging his weapon at the assassin's neck. Altaïr swiftly ducked beneath the sword, before straightening up and knocking his own sword's hilt into the man's temple. The guard staggered, seeing stars from the hard blow. Before he could recover, the ground flew up to meet his eyes.

Altaïr took small steps inside the rough triangle formed by the remaining guards, inflamed by the pain from his hand and his side. The head he'd just lopped off rolled into a soldier's foot, causing him to jump and shriek in fear. The assassin studied his opponents calmly, almost feeling sorry that their ill training now cost them their lives. The one in front of him held out a shaky sword, trembling under the layer of blood his comrade had drenched him in earlier. He eyed the other two guards nervously, hoping they would come to his rescue.

The two behind Altaïr glanced down the long alleyway, and then at each other. Something seemed to pass between them in the split second that their gaze met. In unison, they both dropped their swords and dashed away. They hadn't gone more than three steps when one of them let out a blood-curdling scream. He stumbled, his body rolling twice before coming to a stop, a glinting knife protruding from the base of his skull. The other soldier cried fearfully, sprinting faster than he ever thought he could.

Alone now, the young guard let out a whimper when Altaïr turned around, his stern face spattered with droplets of blood. The soldier's iron sword clattered to the ground and he cowered, raising both hands as if to shield his face. Altaïr stepped forward, a calculated move, making his prey scamper back and bump the wall.

"Oh Lord…please don't kill me." His pitiful tone was unbecoming of a city guard.

The soldier stooped, eyeing Altaïr with absolute terror. The assassin suddenly realized that this was the man who gave away his hiding place. His eyes instantly hardened with anger and disgust.

"I've already given you a chance at life, but you chose not to take it. You have brought this onto yourself." He said emotionlessly, advancing forward.

"Please…I-I have a family, an ailing mother to take care of, a good daughter to-taaghh…"

Altaïr plunged the sword into the man's stomach and twisted the blade, making him choke on his words. The man coughed, his breaths raspy. He clawed at his killer's shoulders, clinging onto the bloody fabric as if such a move could save him from death. Altaïr batted the hands away, staring unsympathetically into his prey's pleading eyes. After a while those eyes glazed over and the body slid quietly off of his blade. He stood still for a moment, listening for footsteps coming down the alley. None came.

Altaïr surveyed the massacre around him, frowning deeply. God knows how many families he'd destroyed today. He shook his head, removing such useless thoughts from his head cleaned his sword on the corpse's clothing. The leather hilt was covered with blood from his hand wound, which reopened again when he sheathed his weapon. Gritting his teeth, the assassin torn a strip of clean cloth from his own robes and wrapped his right hand in it. He probbed around his side, feeling rib bones through the gash. Unfortunately, there's nothing he could do about that here. The more important thing right now is to get away from this bloody scene.

* * *

_Notes: Yay update! Sorry about the long wait guys. Unfortunately, school's started and I don't have much time on my hands. It seems that there's not much interest in this story so I'd rather not waste time writing if nobody's going to read it. That said, if you want me to continue, please let me know. Otherwise, I will probably let this sit until I have more leisure on my hands._

_Thanks for reading! :)_


	9. Chapter 7

**CH 7**

The city gate was a most unwelcoming sight.

There was the usual eight who stood guarding the inner and outer parts of the gate. There was also an additional ten who milled about, no doubt gathered there when news of an assassination broke out. Altaïr had never taken on eighteen men solo before, and he didn't want to in his current state. Looking down, he tried to flex his right hand, grimacing slightly when fibers of pain shot out from his palm.

The rafiq at the local bureau had gotten some bandage for his wounds. Using the fountain water, Altaïr had also tried to wash the blood stains off of his uniform. The bureau leader had been most pleased to see him, as he had assumed the worst when Damascus stopped its alarms and Altaïr hadn't shown up.

Getting up from the bench, Altaïr bowed his head low and moved with the crowd. The guards were ruthlessly checking everyone who went through the gate, even ripping away the veils of a few heavy-set women. Getting through by himself was pretty much impossible. He broke away into a smaller street when the crowd got too close to the gate. He continued down the alley, trying to think of a way to get out. A group of people surrounded a bench, their heads bent towards a figure sat on it. Altaïr heard something intriguing as he passed.

"They needed me…and I abandoned them!" The unseen person spoke. His voice was strained, high, and terrified. The assassin lingered at a bend, facing away.

"Young man, surely you did not mean to." An elderly man spoke. His voice was deep, assuring.

"No, I _did_ mean to," The person sobbed hysterically, "you weren't there, you can't possibly-…he-he was not human! A monster from hell!"

The group shuffled uncomfortably. Many left, probably thinking this person was one of those crazy-drunkards wandering the streets. Altaïr took this chance to look into the thinned ranks and received an unpleasant shock. The person sat on the bench was the guard that ran away earlier!

The disheveled guard, likewise, saw him through the gaps between the people. His features immediately twisted into a mix of nausea, horror, and rage. His mouth started moving but no words came out, only grumbles and whimpers, making everyone around him step away as if he were diseased. Inside of a minute he was all alone with the assassin he'd faced earlier. Altaïr stared at him, having never seen someone react so strongly to his presence. The man placed his head between his knees. From the lowest tones of his vocal cords laughter came up, until it gripped him with violent shakes. At that the white-clad assassin moved towards him, left hand at the ready.

"You intend to kill me…and I can't do anything about it. …" the madman hissed angrily, "But with some help, perhaps I can take you with me."

Altaïr's eyes widened, realizing what his victim was about to do. The guard bolted up and ran towards the streets.

"ASSASSIN! ASSASSIN HER-…"

Altaïr leaped on top of him and plunged the blade in, toppling to the ground with him. Already footsteps were echoing down the alleyway. Soon the fresh guards would be upon them. The assassin cursed fervently and retracted his hidden blade, looking for a place to run. Blood spurted from the man's severed artery but he was still squirming, trying to crawl forward. Altaïr clambered up a low wall, immediately finding footholds. He moved up the side of the building, hindered by the slippery blood on his left hand and the reopened wound in his right hand.

"Heeere…" The man moaned, using up his last breath.

The assassin gritted his teeth as he enclosed his right hand on a small outcrop, the bandage slowly turning dark red. Below him, four soldiers stopped around the wide-eyed corpse, noting the still bleeding wound in his neck. They looked up, letting out angry shouts, pointing uselessly at the man now climbing over the top of the building.

Not looking down at the angry guards, Altaïr sprinted off. He knew he was close to the city gates and that there were beams overhead. Perhaps he could use those to get out without having to deal with additional bloodshed.

Unfortunately, fate decided to be cruel to him that day.

Several archers marched along the roofs, making him curse more than ever. He moved along carefully, not wanting an entire army of archers on his tail. He could hear the four soldiers spread news of his presence to the guards at the gates, totally closing off that route. Altaïr had no doubt that, even with his skill, eighteen or more highly trained elite guards attacking all at once could very well kill him. The roof garden he took refuge behind hid him well, and he could see that the archers patrolled with a certain pattern. There was a brief window of opportunity where he could slip past them unseen. He waited patiently.

* * *

An experienced archer greeted his comrade silently for the umpteenth time, before turning around. Today's assassination had certainly been unexpected, but not surprising. The murdered man had robbed the city of both riches and virgins, and had only escaped justice by his vast connections. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the infamous Assassins paid him a visit. Still, murder is murder, and the city authorities would not be happy if he went free. The experienced archer held a grim face, but inside he was celebrating. This strange killer had brought justice to his daughter's rapist, and he was glad the man in white hadn't come this way. As he walked away from his partner he felt a gentle whoosh of air. Too soft for a wind, he knew, but he let himself stay faced forward, an elated feeling in his stomach.

* * *

The amateur archer looked at his seniors, a strange expression on his face. He broke from the normal routine, going towards the edge of a roof. A trailing white robe caught his eye, before it disappeared behind another building.

"Assassin?" He spoke, more to himself.

He decided the day could use some excitement. "ASSASSIN!"

"Assassin!? Where?" His comrades asked. He pointed directly in front of him, feeling like a commander when a group immediately went off in that direction.

* * *

Altaïr was almost at the edge, ready to kill, when a flurry of sounds grabbed his attention. First, there were shouts of "ASSASSIN!" behind him, and then there were metal clinking against metal, and finally there were thundering footsteps headed his way. The lone archer standing alertly near the edge could not see him in his well-hidden place, but the large ground will be directly behind him in no time. The assassin tensed, knowing time was running out. He had only one shot at this, and he needed the element of surprise.

The archer near the edge turned towards the street, watching the guards at the gate with interest.

_Now or never_, Altaïr thought, and pounced from his hiding place.

The archer let loose a scream of surprise as a strong hand gave him a push. He tumbled through the air, landing in a heap of broken limbs. The sound of bones snapping drew away some of the soldiers from the gate. They inspected the corpse with disgust, knowing that only someone from the Assassins would ambush someone from behind. Trying to hide their fears, they howled for the one responsible to show himself. Altaïr answered their demands by sailing through the air, landing deftly on the support beam sticking out a ways from the gate. They watched the man in white with gaped mouths, unable to believe that the killer would _actually_ show himself.

Altaïr raised both arms to the side for balance and bounded as fast as he could across the narrow wood. He could hear indignant shouts to his left, and knew the group of archers were now readying their arrows. The guards below him clamored in anger, throwing their best insults and rocks at him. He concentrated on the beam, knowing a missed step would mean certain death. Several arrows flew above his head and around him.

He reached the gate and immediately stood up, jumping towards the beam inside the gate. The archers scrambled towards the very end of the building, trying to keep the assassin within sight. He heard a wretched howl and a nasty thhud, indicating that someone fell off. A few ill-shot arrows snapped as they hit the stone walls of the gate. Altaïr jumped towards the last beam and turned left, raising both arms again as he quickly ran the length of the beam on the outside wall. Fortunately, he was now completely out of eyesight of the archers, but the guards below him were more bloodthirsty than ever. Altaïr surveyed the land, leaping to a soft spot on the ground and putting a fair distance between him and the guards. The soldiers chased after him, swords raised like mad bandits.

"You can't run forever!" One of them shouted, his sword swinging dangerously close to one of his comrades.

A horse whinnied in the distance.

Altaïr stumbled on a rock, his arms flying out while trying to regain his balance. His legs gradually readjusted and he sprinted to the small corral where several horses watched the commotion with perked ears. With deft fingers he undid the knotted reins of a particular animal, jumping onto its back with practiced fluidicity. Without having to give cues the horse turned away, knowing it was time to leave. Altaïr dug his heels in, feeling his mount explode with energy. In an instant the wind was whipping comfortingly in his ear. He could hear pursuing hoofbeats behind him and smirked. They would never catch up.

Suddenly, the rythmic hoofbeats broke into a chaotic untimed mess. His mount swayed and staggered, but refused to fall. The hoofsteps behind grew uncomfortably close and he wondered how heartbroken Ahmed might be. His horse continued to plod unsteadily and Altaïr hung on, gripping tightly with his legs as the animal seemed to sit for a moment. A second later the horse regained her balance, restarting the interrupted gallop. Altaïr encouraged the mare, shouting for her to go faster. The mare flared her nostrils, her legs a blur as she once again ran faster than the wind. The assassin breathed a sigh of relief, glad his mount hadn't sustained any threatening wounds. He leaned forward, moving with the horse's rhythm with a grin on his face. The pursuing hoofbeats had almost faded away when something smacked into his back. It knocked his wind out, splaying him out across the front of the saddle. The horse below him snorted in concern, slowing down a notch. He tried to reach around to see what's wrong, but couldn't raise his arm. A warm liquid trickled down his back and breathing became painful.

"Reem, take me home..." He whispered hoarsely, collapsing into the blond mane.

* * *

_Notes: Whoo update! I've actually worked on this chapter little by little since the last update, so you can probably get an idea of the time frame between chapters. Very sorry, but school comes first_.

_Thanks for the reviews, and thanks for reading!_


	10. Chapter 8

**CH 8**

Almira heaved the load onto her back. It was Friday, one of the most depressing days of the week. If she had the strength, she would laugh at the irony, since she used to look forward to Fridays. She could feel Raja's eyes boring into her back, straight through the sack of potatoes. The old woman's lips turned up in a slight hint of a sneer when their eyes met. After she turned away, Almira silently cursed the miserable wench to Hell and back. Raja suddenly stepped away, yelling at a young newcomer to pick up the pace. Almira sighed, bowing forward, feeling the sack weigh down on her back. The other workers passed by wordlessly, either going into the castle or coming down to the long caravan for this month's provisions.

One foot in front of the other. Then come the other foot. Repeat. One in front of the other. One in front of the other. Must be careful on the steep slope up to the castle, don't want any food rolling over the cliff…or have people slip on them like ball bearings.

_Now that would be funny._

Beneath the stifling robes, a trickle of sweat rolled onto her belly, making her press the fabric against her skin to soak it up. Mechanically she stepped aside to allow two laughing Apprentices to pass through the massive gates, before going through herself. She allowed the sack to fall in a heap when she stopped at the huge pile in the storage room. A familiar frame approached her when she made her way down the steps of the room, which was right behind the kitchen.

"Water?" Ikram asked, handing her a clay goblet. She had a broom for sweeping the kitchen in the other hand.

Almira only nodded, accepting the cup and downing the chilled liquid inside. She thought about emptying it over her head, but decided against it.

"Ikram, what did I do wrong?" Almira sighed.

Ikram only shrugged, taking back her cup. "Nothing. I believe Raja is picking on you because you only work under her for three days now. But at least it's only three days."

"She assigns me duties that she won't assign any other women," Almira said lowly. "The looks the men give me...they think me a whore." She shot daggers into the lingering eyes of another servant.

The younger girl sighed, "Almira...I think you are just being paranoid."

"No, I just do not wish to be murdered in some back alleyway."

"Women, get back to work. Time is wasting," a voice said sternly. Almira threw a glance in that general direction and saw a face she recognized. Ikram seemed quite shaken, and immediately walked away.

_Where have I seen him?_ He looked so familiar. Bushy eyebrows, sharp eyes, strong nose, and a sharp jaw line. Almira followed him all the way out of the castle until he turned off the main road. The face intrigued and occupied her for the rest of the day until she was simply too tired to care.

* * *

Rhythmic hoof beats echoed through the valley. A blood-red Arabian with strong, slender legs galloped like her life depended on it. Her rider was slumped against her neck, staining her mane and shoulders with dried blood. Altaïr flowed in and out of consciousness, curiously aware of the chill in the sun-starved valley.

How long has it been? He knew there were valleys, but didn't know how close it would put him towards Masyaf. He did remember being hit by something, likely an arrow from an elite archer. Reem's breathing was rhythmic and steady, fitting for a horse of such a caliber. He coughed weakly, noticing that his hand still had a death grip on the horse's golden mane. That was unnecessary, he realized grimly, because if he should fall such a grip would not save him anyway.

A hazy figure clad in white waved a sword angrily. Altaïr narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out why a brother-in-arms of his would do such a thing, when Reem pinned her ears, sensing the intentions in this horseless warrior. It wasn't until they passed the soldier did Altaïr realize that he wasn't shouting in Arabic, but rather in some foreign language. He gazed backwards, watching the angry form become smaller, sinking into oblivion with every passing stride.

* * *

The merchants setting up shop made Almira's eyes flutter open. They weren't loud, but every morning when the merchants started setting up their stalls, she woke up. She sat still for a while before a sense of elated urgency hit her.

_Monday_, she thought happily, as she got ready and headed out the door. She had survived the three days of being an overworked zombie. The time spent under Raja was growing more and more intolerable, especially since the old woman had started putting her on men's duties, as well as demanding that she show up early and leave late.

The skies were still dark when she arrived at the stables. She gazed towards the eastern mountains that rose like dark sentinels against the black-azure sky. A young assassin rode up, the bloody feather clearly visible in his leather belt. He seemed not to notice her as he literally jumped off his mount and bounded into Masyaf. After a while, it was easy to spot those who had just made their first kill. Some came back crushed by guilt, while others were thrilled with the deed. Almost all were careless enough to allow the blood feather to hang out in the open.

She caught the horse, a jittery mare still chomping on the bit, walking her around to cool her down. She had a large splatter of fresh blood, probably from the slashed throat of a careless guard. The blood had mixed with horse sweat, running down in red gullies on her shoulder and chest. The smell was incredible, of daring and death, with a little conviction mixed in. Almira glanced at the mountains a second time.

_What's it like to be an assassin? _She shook her head. Time to wash that mare.

Ahmed seemed strangely uneasy at the stables. He, too, kept looking off to the desert mountains while advising a middle-aged horse trainer. Nearby, Almira listened intently, tacking up the horses scheduled for today. For a man of his age, Ahmed had staved off the effects of aging quite well, though his search for Yasmin now required him to use a cane. He abhorred it, believing it to be a symbol of feebleness. The walking stick rested abandoned in his room while the horseman accepted his awkward, slow gait. He leaned against the wooden rail, watching the young colt half-heartedly.

By now, the sun had just peeked over the edges of the mountains, casting a soft orange glow on the stable. Almira paused in mid-buckling, taking a moment for the desert sunrise. She would love to gallop across the desert terrain with the fine Arabian in front of her, right at sunrise when the air seemed to stimulate life within the body. A gust blew loose hay and sand into her face, bringing her attention back to the matters at hand. She went back to adjusting the noseband, while the wind carried to her the faint clomps of tired hooves.

"What the…" the stable girl whispered, squinting again. A dark horse had emerged from the bend that overlooked the wide river. Almira quickly tightened the second saddle girth, before using a hand to block the stinging sunlight. Her expressions fell, to be replaced by one of fear and alarm.

"Ahmed!" she called out, running towards the approaching figure. The horse was none other than Reem, covered in a ghostly white lather. A shiver ran down Almira's spine when she saw a shaft stick up from the red mare's back.

_Altaïr_.

"Reem!" Ahmed cried as if his own children were being sacrificed. The elderly horseman half stumbled, half ran towards his prized mare. Almira caught the limp reins of the Arabian as she stumbled to a halt, blowing like she'd never ran so hard in her life.

"Don't let her lay down!" Ahmed yelled, running as fast as he could, forgetting all about the pain in his back.

"No, no, no, stay on your feet," Almira said firmly when the mare started leaning forward. She knew if Reem succeeded in going down to her knees, she might never get up again. In a moment, Ahmed was at her side, snatching the reins from her and coaxing his beloved to continue walking. The mare's sides heaved terribly with every shuddering breath. Her limp rider finally slid off and landed with a "thud" on the dusty ground.

"Altaïr! Oh my…" Almira shouted, feeling sick to her stomach. The trainer and several stable hands showed up at her side. A long, dark arrow shaft protruded from where his heart ought to be.

"Altaïr..." _Please be alive. _She placed two shaking fingers at his neck.

There was a pulse – weak, but there. What scared her more was the coldness of his skin.

"He's still alive," she whispered to the circle surrounding them.

"Get him to the castle!" The trainer commanded, shoving Almira out of the way. He carefully snapped the feather fletching off, having seen many assassins come back with arrow wounds. Two stable hands placed the unconscious figure gently in a straw-padded cart designed for such emergencies. Without another word, one of them leaped into the driver's seat, whipping the horses into a gallop while the other sat next to the body. In a moment, they were gone, leaving only a trail of flying dust.

Almira watched as the dust quickly dissipated in the morning wind. After a while, she realized her hand was clutched into a tight fist, and relaxed it to discover Altaïr's coagulated blood smeared all over her palms. She bent down, grabbing a fistful of desert sand and grinding it into her hands in an attempt to "wash" the stains off. It's not as if she hadn't seen blood before, just never on her own two hands. The blood made her palms look incredibly dark.

"Still, Reem, stay still," Ahmed cooed gently. By now, the mare's breathing had calmed to deep, steady puffs. Her ribs showed through the sweat soaked hide with every breath. Almira nudged her way to the front of the group now gathered around the elderly horseman and the war mare.

Ahmed seemed not to notice the small audience. He had covered the mare's eyes with a shirt and one of the older stable boys had Reem's reins, stroking her head gently whenever she showed signs of resistance. Ahmed was at her rump, where two nasty arrows were buried deep within the mare's haunches. Small rivulets of fresh blood trailed from the injuries all the way down to her hooves. Continuous galloping made the wounds bleed profusely, and the fresh blood covering the partially dried blood made a sickening scarlet rainbow down the hind leg of the mare.

Ahmed furrowed his brows, making his frown lines even deeper. He studied the projectiles, before quickly grabbing both of them and twisting them out. Reem screamed and lashed a blind kick into the air. She whinnied and snorted, blowing indignantly at the pain and the tug on her mouth. It was then that Ahmed noticed the spectators.

"What are you lot doing?" he barked. The anger in his voice didn't quite match the old man's wizened appearance. "Back to work or I'll have it doubled!"

The crowd quickly dissipated. Two assassins were milling around the horses when Almira arrived at her post. She handed them their charges, warned them about their mounts' tempers, and then went inside to tack up two more horses. All through the rest of the day, she found herself looking to the castle and unable to concentrate. Whenever she stared off into space, she would see the pale image of him.

Altaïr, one of the greatest Assassins, laying helpless and dying on the ground.

* * *

Almira shifted the old, repaired bridle with her hands, using the moonlight to adjust the rusty buckles. The moon was nice and full, providing excellent visibility. She led the gelding out, and was about to enter the corral, when something caught her eye. The moonlight reflected off an object in the dirt. She walked over, picking it up.

It was a knife of some sort, with an elaborately crafted handle and glinting edges. The weapon must have fallen out of Altaïr's belt, and repeated trampling had concealed it in the dirt. She fingered the blade, noting the deadly sharpness.

"Altaïr is hurt, I should go see him. But what would I say to him?" she whispered to her horse.

The sleek, masculine head of the gelding lowered, his brown eyes peeking out from beneath the long black forelocks. He studied the glinting blade with interest for a moment before the black horse stretched his neck out, and then shook his mane, having not a care for the one named Altaïr.

* * *

_Note: Yay update! I want to give a big thank you to Blue Sigma, for beta-ing and editing this chapter. Go read her story Zuleika's Creed, I know it's long but trust me it's worth it._

_Thanks for continuing to read! You guys are like one of the main forces moving me._


	11. Chapter 9

**CH 9**

_Where am I?_ Altaïr wondered while floating in and out of consciousness. It took him a moment to realize that he was laying on his side, arms stretched out in front. His right hand was neatly bandaged. Breathing made both his side and his back hurt. He fought with himself to stay in the realm of the real, to no avail.

_The bloody face of a featureless guard chased him. He ran through the streets, leaped up buildings, hid inside gardens. But always there was the featureless bloody soldier that materialized in front of him, choking in the most hideous way possible. _

_He clawed at the apparition, madly kicked it out of the way. It followed him in hot pursuit, moaning a never-ending death gurgle. The assassin stumbled into an alley, to find that the way was blocked by a wall of swords dripping with browned blood. The faceless form appeared behind him, dark and fresh blood oozing from every pore. _

_His heart had never pounded so fast._

"_Altaïr!" _

_He desperately searched, seeing no way out. Both the figure and the swords closed in._

"Altaïr!!"

Altaïr jerked violently in his restless sleep. His comrade finally decided to try and shake him into consciousness.

"AHHH!" The assassin screamed, reaching for the bloody soldier's throat. The figure caught his wrist easily. Through the narcotic haze he realized his fingers were reaching for the throat of someone he would never hurt on purpose.

Fahra stared at him through tired brown eyes. Judging from the speed his hand had shot up, he would have give her nothing more than a weak punch to the neck (but still enough to topple her from the stool).

"Bad dream?" She finally said.

"Mm." Altaïr grunted, the contents of his dream already half-forgotten. He sank back down into the sheets and noticed the tunic of gauze across his chest. Soft light diffused through the mesh-covered window. He tried to switch positions, causing the world to spin around.

"Don't move, they gave you some strong medicine." Fahra said in monotone, "You are lucky. Had your horse taken longer you would have died."

"Iss thawhy nothin hurts?" He slurred, giving a lopsided grin for the most beautiful girl ever.

Fahra leaned back, frowning. They must have given him something _strong_. It isn't common to see Altaïr with glazed-over eyes.

"Do not worry my friend, they would hurt a lot more in the days to come." A looming figure said venomously from the opposite end of the bed.

"Malik, brother! I must be in Paradise!" Altaïr snorted loudly, having heard his words but didn't understand the sentence.

"I think hell would suit you more, Altaïr." Malik spat, storming out of the room. Fahra merely shook her head.

"Malik disappeared…" Altaïr lamented with a smile.

"You are…not all here." Fahra sighed, "Go back to sleep, I will be back in a while, and then I shall explain why Malik would like to murder you right now."

He contemplated her words with confusion. "Wha?"

Fahra stood up, her toned figure filling the assassin robes out quite nicely. Altaïr's eyes rested on an inappropriate place.

"Altaïr!" She snapped, causing him to yell in response. She maneuvered him into the correct position for his wounds, then tucked the covers in around him.

"Go to sleep." She said sharply.

His facial expression suddenly twisted, "Water."

Fahra poked her head into the hallway.

"WATER! I need water here!" She called out. A small, fragile looking servant girl answered swiftly with a cup and a pitcher full of cool liquid. Fahra practically snatched the pitcher from her, spilling some of its contents. She hurriedly filled the cup while Altaïr tried futilely to sit up. The scared servant girl pressed back against the wall, watching the two. A bell rang three times in the distance.

"Oh in the name of Allah!" She cursed, "I must leave now. Take good care of him, give him whatever he needs." She commanded, her voiced sharp with natural authority

After she left, the girl sat down against the wall. It was quiet in here compared to the bustle outside. She would sit on the stool but it was too close to him. For the next few minutes she watched him, listening to his rhythmic breathing. After that she slowly stood up, inching her way across the room. Her heartbeat increased with every step, and with every step she expected the door behind her to slam inwards, or for him to wake up. It took her perhaps three minutes to cross the tiny room. Finally, before her, Altaïr laid in a deep sleep, looking every bit as handsome as the girls had gossiped about. Holding her breath, she reached out a hand, and ever so slowly rested it on his chiseled jaw line. Stubble rasped against her palms, and beneath it she could feel his smooth skin. She sighed in amazement. This was Altaïr beneath her fingers!

He sniffed in his sleep, causing her to quickly retract her hand and bolt out the door.

* * *

Almira sat staring at her plate, wishing she could be in bed right now. She had spent the majority of last night on watch for one of Ahmed's very pregnant mares and had hardly gotten any sleep. She stifled a yawn, looking apathetically at her plate. The food served to the workers was always much more inferior than those presented to the assassins and because of the extra money she could spend on the market, castle food had become more and more unappealing. The only reason she gets in line is for the opportunity to rest and sit, as those who do not eat lunch were expected to continue their work. She chipped away at the hard, stale bread with her fingers, wondering what Raja might have in stock for the rest of the week.

"Oh Almira! Almira! Allah is the Most Merciful! He has blessed me!" Almira had barely turned her head when the young girl practically crashed into her.

"What ever is the matter with you?" Almira tried to push the overeager youngster away, crumbling the bread in her hand. She gazed across the dining hall looking for a specific trio, but knew she wouldn't find the face she sought.

"Altaïr!" Ikram squealed with glee.

"Altaïr, what about him?" Almira kept her voice indifferent, but she sensed a strange feeling on the inside that made her instantly more awake. She had taken to carrying the knife around, the weapon's weight gave her a strange sense of security. It had occurred to her that Altaïr might want the weapon back, but she couldn't find the time to go see him.

"Did he look at you?" She continued, wondering how in the world can she escape Raja's wrath .

"No!"

"He didn't even look at you? Why so excited?"

"I _touched_ him." Ikram's pitch suddenly lowered, like she was telling an utmost secret.

Almira paused for a moment in painting with her tasteless hummus. "How did you touch, as you've said, the greatest assassin of all time?"

Ikram gathered a great breath, as if preparing for a speech. She recounted the events in great detail, not appearing to notice that Almira's attention wasn't entirely focused on her.

"I _touched_ him!" Ikram repeated, in a shrill yet hushed tone, "I am not going to wash that hand for a week."

"That is disgusting."

"It's Altaïr, you'd do it too." The young girl sighed with a dreamy look. Across the room a familiar figure sat down by himself. He greeted some of his comrades, but otherwise ate alone.

"How is he doing?" Almira asked, her eyes focused on the hooded figure across the room.

"He woke up today, but the medicine they gave him made him a little…crazy." Ikram giggled, before biting into her food. "Don't worry about him, Fahra and Malik and the Healers are tending after him. And all the girls in the fortress are praying that he gets well. And he's Altaïr! He simply cannot die."

"Who is Malik?" Almira asked.

"Who is Malik?" Ikram paused with her hand halfway to her mouth, "He is a good friend of Altaïr's! You see him almost everyday, right around there." She pointed a finger at the lone figure across the room.

"…huhn."

"You think I do not notice? Behold my amazing observational skill!" Ikram said with a grin.

"Amazing it is." Almira responded dryly.

"Do not worry, you are not the most obsessed girl here."

"I am not obsessed!"

"Says she who looks across the room every day. It is not something to be ashamed of. Unless you are married."

Almira sighed. "Do you know if he's guarded? I'd like to go see him sometime. Just to see how he's doing."

"Ha! You are in love with him, just like every girl here!" Ikram exclaimed, "But I do not think you can visit, not unless you have a reason to be in the hospit-"

"Almira. Come with me."

Ikram instantly stopped talking. Almira reluctantly got up, feeling a chill run down her spine. She followed the shorter women into a small corridor adjacent to the dining hall, though oddly enough the noise from within did not carry over.

"Yes Raja?" Her voice echoed around the walls. The older woman looked at her with glistening eyes, her thin lips pursed in a distorted smile.

"You were late to work today."

Almira grimaced inside. There was no getting out of that one. The mare had foaled early this morning, giving birth to a somewhat dummy colt that needed assistance. Given Raja's set face, there's really nothing to do except to face the consequences.

Raja raised her chin. "A servant must earn every last bit of their wage, Almira, especially one so well-paid. I have been assigning you work that was much too easy." She paused, savoring the unhealthy tension she had created.

At that moment, Almira wanted nothing more than to plant a fist in Raja's nose.

"To make up for lost time," The skinny woman continued with a sneer, planting her bony hands on her hips, "For the remainder of this month you shall be attending to the wounded, and I believe you know where to go."

Raja's words puzzled Almira. How can this be a form of punishment? In fact, it sounded more like an award, since it gave her a reason to be in the hospital. Still, she wasn't going to question Raja's decision, lest she conjures up something worse.

"As you wish, Raja." Almira answered, smiling. Her superior eyed her with contempt before pushing past her back into the dining hall. There was something about Raja's gaze that made her intensely uncomfortable. A hand tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

"Uh, are you all right?" Ikram's voice sounded strangely timid. Almira refocused her attention, becoming aware of her tightly bunched fists.

"Yea, yes, I'm fine." She brushed her sweaty palms on her clothes. "I am not sure whether to rejoice or be worried. Raja just assigned me to the hospital."

"Oh that is wonderful!" Ikram exclaimed loudly, "First it's Altaïr, then it's you! We have the same duties! Come, walk with me. Lunch is over soon anyway."

* * *

Altaïr woke with an odd feeling, like his innard had been emptied out and replaced with cotton. The earlier events of today flashed back in blurry, disconnected chunks. His wounds were starting to sting.

"How long was I asleep?"

"About three days," Fahra replied, perched on the stool. "You have the most violent sleep I've ever seen. You almost pulled your stitches and Malik tried to hold you down. You were yelling something about not catching you alive and somehow you managed to punch him twice."

"So that is why he was in such a foul mood."

"That would be the reason."

It was then that he noticed the tired redness in her brown eyes.

"How goes the meeting?" He asked, watching her eyelashes flutter.

She shrugged. "I'm afraid I won't be seeing you in a while, perhaps until you are all healed. Informants have turned up an assassin group - knives for hire. Recently they did a string of killings for the Crusaders and for the Templars. The Master is not pleased with their actions."

Altaïr felt a tinge of jealousy. Though freshly injured, he wanted to be out there. Killing.

"Al Mualim wants you to send them a message? Placed a feather on their leader?"

"Three leaders, and I have a feather for each." Fahra tugged at her crimson waistband to reveal three snow white feather tips. "It's total chaos for the citizens there and I hope they are still willing to help us. In any case, this should be an easy mission."

"Sounds typical."

"The easy mission?"

"The chaos part."

Fahra chuckled. Altaïr offered her a grin.

"I leave this evening. I only came to let you know the reason you won't see me around." Fahra stood up, Altaïr looked at her face this time. She proceeded to walk out the door.

"Safety and peace, Fahra."

"Safety and," Fahra smirked, "sleep peacefully, Altaïr."

* * *

The hospital was a massive building situated to the side of the fortress, the only place in Masyaf where common peasants can receive medical help for severe injuries or illnesses. For Almira, the first few minutes in the sick bay were nothing short of shock. A thick smell of metallic blood hung in the air, followed by faint groans of pain. Doctors and assistants and servants rushed here and there, some with blood stained tunics. A large, well-lit room greeted them, lined with waiting benches down both sides for common citizens. A long and large hallway containing numerous doors extended down the left side. Ikram explained that these were generally used for the less debilitating injuries. Cases like Altaïr's were taken further back where they're isolated and closer to the medical supplies. Ikram led Almira to a gray haired man writing something in a scroll.

"Healer Halim, Raja just assigned Almira here. Can you place her in the registry?"

"Indeed I can, and let us hope Raja doesn't take her away the next day, it will make my work so much easier." The old man said. "Greetings, what is your full name?"

"Almira al-Dimashqi, Master."

Halim leafed through the pages until he reached the end of the writing, where he inked her name down with an old stylus. He then gave them two yellowish tunics.

"Go on now, I have many things to do." Halim said, dismissing them with a wave.

They walked to a small, cramped room where the workers may don the uniforms with some privacy. Immediately after coming out, people started looking their way.

"Attention grabbers." Almira commented, at the same time noticing the tall form of a female assassin striding out the double doors of the civilian area.

"Yes, and now we work." Ikram responded.

* * *

In some ways, Raja's satisfaction was well-justified. The common civilian, especially those with some wealth, was terrified of infection. Thus they hollered at her for medical attention, each believing that their case was the direst. All Almira could really do was direct an assistant their way, who very often sent them home anyway. Sometimes the citizens refused to leave and had to be shooed out by the guards. Most of the Healers had their hand full with wounded assassins, who take priority over civilians.

The sky had already darkened outside, making the hospital a blaze of candlelight and oil lamps. Almira leaned against the railing of the dim second story balcony, resting her head in her hands. Few citizens visited at this hour, making the place relatively quiet.

"Hey, pssst!"

"Ikram?" Against the light, only a silhouette showed.

"Come with me, nobody's at Altaïr's door." Ikram whispered, gesturing madly with her hands.

They walked close to each other as they headed deeper into the building. Every hallway was lined with strong burning oil lamps, and for a brief moment Almira marveled at the efficiency of the ventilation system here. The guards paid them no heed upon seeing their worker's uniform. They turned a corner, where it had oil lamps lining the hallway and two doors to each of the walls. A dark window decorated the opposite end. Ikram walked to the second door on the left, gently putting her ear to the wooden material. She then placed a hand on the door handles, but didn't open it.

"I'll stand guard outside, hide under his bed if I come in." Ikram said quietly.

"How will you not get in trouble if they catch you?"

"Because," the young girl's eyes flashed with joy, "I just got assigned to take the evening shift of his care!" Ikram whispered a squeal, if that was possible.

Now that she was here, Almira felt a tinge of hesitation.

"You wanted to visit, didn't you?" Ikram narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, but…what do I say to him?" Her normally calm heart started beating faster as she started thinking about it.

"He's probably asleep. Just don't harm him, that would be very bad for me." Ikram murmured, softly opening the door, "Remember, you'll never get an opportunity like this again, ever, in your life."

Before Ikram finished, Almira felt herself being shoved into the void.

* * *

_Notes: Finally my writing muse came back, and now I actually have time to write this. Thanks to all my readers out there!_


	12. Chapter 10

**CH 10**

The door closed behind her, surrounding her with darkness. Almira stood still, not wanting to accidentally knock anything over. Slowly the light came back, and she realized the place was actually lit by a small, dim candle. The room itself wasn't much to look at. It was tiny and had no furnishings except the wobbly table, a chair, and a stool next to the bed. A white uniform was folded neatly on the table. The bed was against the wall, boards covered with a cushion. The person on the bed was sleeping all right.

What to do now? She hadn't thought this far along and Altaïr would probably go berserk if he woke up and saw her. Tiptoeing to the table, she reached inside her robes and pulled out the shiny dagger. Her palms grew sweaty as she thought about what this scene might look like to a guard. Ever so quietly, she placed it on the table, almost sad to give it up. The deed done, and with nothing else to do, she tiptoed back to the door.

"Almira."

Almira froze, hating that she looked so scared. She turned around to find the wounded man sitting up against the wall. He had bunched up the sheets around him, which she took to be an attempt at modesty. His uncovered face revealed features that really were as striking as the servant maids had gossiped about.

She reminded herself to stop staring.

"I-…you lost your dagger," she gestured, "I came to return it."

Altaïr glanced at the thin blade resting on the wooden surface. Candlelight glinted off the sharp blade. He wondered how long it would take him to grab it in his damaged state.

"How did you get in here?"

"How?" Almira felt stupid as soon as she said that. Altaïr's features turned menacing.

"My door is always guarded," he said darkly. "How did you get in here?"

"I don't understand…" she muttered. "Your door isn't guarded."

"No?" Altaïr said, puzzled. He looked past her to the door, suddenly feeling a burst of energy.

"Then I must get out." The assassin gritted through his teeth. He grunted as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The sheets fell away from his powerful shoulders. Handsome as he is, Almira thought he looked rather feral in his attempt to escape. She sidestepped to stand near the table, out of his way.

Altaïr focused on the unguarded door in front of him like it was an assassination target. He stood up, immediately feeling a sharp pain shoot through his chest. It seared along his body as black washed over his vision. Blindly he wobbled, his flailing arms striking something in the darkness.

When his sight came back, he became aware of Almira struggling not to drop him. With much difficulty, she lowered him into his bed.

"Altaïr, please, moving around will only prolong your stay here."

He also became aware of a nasty red mark on her face, and instantly felt a stab of guilt. The feeling was quickly replaced by annoyance. She showed him a way out, a way he can't take.

Altaïr had two kinds of followers: those who adored him and those who abhorred him. The latter group usually kept away from him, fanning their fires of disapproval whenever possible. Always around to remind everyone that he, Al Mualim's favorite, was still only human.

Those who adored him would disagree. Altaïr has never failed a mission; a feat not achieved by any other assassin past or present.

His breath came in shallow gasps, eyeing the doorway that now seemed to mock him. "Are you alright?" he whispered, his chest still too inflamed to speak loudly.

"I will be, but this is why you should not move around," she said quietly, aware of the painful tingle on her cheek.

Altaïr pressed his lips into a thin line; the acrid edge to her voice not missed on him. After a while, she shrugged dismissively.

"It is getting late, I should go, but I wish to ask you a question before leaving," she said after a while.

Altaïr nodded, somewhat unwillingly. Almira pointed at the vast expanse of gauze piled expertly on top of his chest. A dark spot stained through the fabric where his wound is.

"What happened?"

"A barrage of arrows," Altaïr responded curtly; he had a reputation to uphold. Almira looked unconvinced, but didn't press on.

"You were successful though? On the mission?" she asked instead.

"Of course I was," he said unhesitatingly. She laughed.

"Why is that funny?"

"Some of the maids here have a gamble going on. They're betting on which mission you will fail."

Altaïr smirked, "A losing gamble. They should save their money for other things."

"You are very confident."

"I am confident because I am a prepared man."

"Ah yes, fortune does favor the prepared," she said, smiling.

Altaïr sighed, studying the woman in front of him. "In Beirut, when I was observing my target, I remember the way he beat you, and yet you came here and chose to remain a servant."

Her smile instantly vanished. "Your point?"

The assassin leaned back, amused at the sudden change. "I simply do not understand why you decided to work like a slave, when so many other paths were open to you."

Almira's brows furrowed as her mind flashed back to her first day at the stronghold.

"_Almira, I believe your first night here was restful?"_

_She wringed her hands behind her back. The Assassin leader's one good eye was piercing as it roamed over her and sized her up. That didn't scare her though. What did was the Grand Master's glass right eye. It stared unwaveringly at her, as if it could see straight into her soul and decide what she's made of._

_She gulped, telling herself to not hold a man's gaze._

"_Yes Master. I am grateful for your hospitality."_

"_You are very welcome, my child," Al Mualim said. "Now, since you are staying, do you wish to know what is it we do?"_

_Hairs suddenly bristled on the back of her neck; every white-robed man in the building was now watching her. She heard the raspy sound of a boot scraping the floor, along with the crispy scratch of a quill on paper. She licked at her lips, trying to moisten them before speaking._

"_I…I think I know," she mumbled. As fast as it began, the adrenaline rush slid away._

_Al Mualim regarded her casually. "You know? And you still wish to serve us?"_

"_Yes. I think…had Altaïr not killed him, by now I am most likely dead. My life is saved by your hands, allow me to repay you in some way."_

_Al Mualim examined her for a while longer, and then turned to the large window behind him._

"_You will need a job," he stated matter-of-factly._

_Almira waited for him to continue. He didn't._

"_H-have you something in mind Master? Or shall I search on my own?" she said cautiously._

_The Grand Master let out a "hmmm" and stroked his graying beard. He said nothing for the next minute. Almira glanced at the shelves filling this library. The Assassins must have serious support to afford this many books, some of which had two copies; a skilled scribe had no doubt spent many years replicating the material._

"_Come here," he finally commanded, beckoning to a spot right beside him._

_After some hesitation, Almira obeyed, taking her place in front of the window. She was shocked and awed at what she saw._

_A lush green garden stretched out below her. No, not a garden; an open-air palace was more like it. It was divided into three levels, all covered with carefully tended flowers and emerald green grass. In the middle was a large, shallow pool filled with crystal clear water. On the uppermost level was a nicely paved area. Fine rugs and mats were scattered along the sides of it. Several women dressed in revealing but expensive-looking clothes milled around the garden, most of them staying in the paved area. One chatted flirtatiously with a white-robed man, before taking his arm and leading him elsewhere. As they passed below the window she looked up, and Almira saw one of the most gorgeous women she's ever laid eyes on._

"_It…it's beautiful," she sighed. The distant mountains gazed back at her forlornly._

"_If you wish, you may work there. After five years you will be free to pursue other matters of interest."_

_Almira considered this proposal. Over the span of mere minute she saw two mesmerizing women lead away the men that talked to them._

"_They…they are…"_

"_They are the Courtesans, Almira," Al Mualim said lightly, a hint of a smile at his lips. "My students, too, have needs."_

_Almira blushed. She lowered her head so her hair might cover her cheeks. The women chatted and laughed with one another, but never without grace. Ornate, polished jewellery hung from their hair and wrists. They looked and acted like the learned consorts of emperors; it was a compliment that the Grand Master thought she could belong there. She had caught the eye of one of the beauties, who now looked up at her with a bright smile. The woman probably thought she was joining them. Almira didn't smile back._

The entire scene flashed by in less than a second.

"Exactly what paths are you referring to?" Almira retorted.

"You know what I am referring to," Altaïr said, pressing a hand to the bandage. "You could have had your freedom in a mere five years."

She smiled bitterly. "And after that? Where will I go then?"

Altaïr regarded her with a strange expression. Of course, everyone knew the Courtesans were really just high-end whores. Most came from slave backgrounds, and were considered unmarriable anyway. However, if they did manage to marry an assassin, they would obtain legitimate and high standing amongst the citizens of Masyaf. He thought she might have taken that gamble, seeing her circumstances.

"You actually intend to stay in Masyaf? Why?"

"I have nowhere else to go," she said quietly. "The only other place I've been to is Beirut."

"You were born there?"

"No. But I no longer remember where, so it doesn't matter," she shrugged. "I will actually be very happy if I worked only at the stable. But life never is what you want."

Almira wrapped her arms around her as if cold, and then turned for the door. "It is late, I should leave you be now."

"Wait, allow me another question." Altaïr requested, leaning forward.

"Will I regret saying yes?"

Altaïr ignored her last question. "A few months ago I heard you ran into trouble with Abbas, my student."

"It was…an accident, really," she stammered, feeling blood rise to her cheeks, "I didn't know he was your student."

"He might as well not be." Altaïr waved dismissively, "But I wish to know why. Everyone else tells a different story every time."

He sounded genuinely interested, so she gave him a short account of the events, leaving out the part where she was beaten.

She scratched the back of her neck. "You are well aware of where my passion is, so when I saw him torturing a fine horse like that I just, I couldn't really think."

"Hmm, so he did deserve it. I thought as much," Altaïr scowled. "He never listens to me; that will be his downfall."

"You are a teacher? How old are you?" Almira asked.

"Age is not a merit to teach, but skill is," Altaïr replied, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, "and I am 22, or 23."

"You don't know your age?"

"It is insignificant." He shrugged, "Do you know yours?"

"Yes, I am eighteen." Even as she said it, she suddenly doubted herself.

"Then when is your birthday?"

"August 24th."

Altaïr's body suddenly tensed. "What did you say?"

"Uh, nothing," she blurted, appalled at herself. She spun around, her hand on the door. "I really must go now. I only came to return your dagger."

"No. Wait, I heard what you sai-"

"Good night, Altaïr," she cut in firmly, slipping into the brighter hallway and shutting the door quietly.

* * *

Outside, the smell of blood once again invaded her head. Almira sighed as she closed the door. She was glad Altaïr couldn't move all that much, or else she might not have been able to leave. The smarting on her cheek had subsided. She turned to Ikram, about to thank her when Ikram shook her head, putting a finger to her lips.

"Not here," the young girl whispered, "The guards are coming. You should get going now. I was almost going to come in and fetch you."

Almira bade farewell to her friend, then walked to the main hallway, chancing a glance at the guards lining the walls. They had just switched shifts, and the replacements looked wide-awake and vigilant. She quickened her footsteps as if she had somewhere to be.

The cool night wind brushed against her face. Late as it was, her day wasn't over yet. She brushed the loose strands of hair out of her face, picking her way carefully down the darkened slope. It always puzzled her why the townsmen of Masyaf didn't construct some sort of barrier along the edge of the cliff. Just last week a merchant had lost his footing on the loose gravel and tumbled, screaming, down the slope and over the vertical drop. The people of Masyaf didn't do much, since he wasn't from the town. It was most likely they had taken great pleasure in stealing what was left of his wares.

Down by the stables, all was quiet except the chirping of crickets and the occasional thud of hooves. She always found peace and tranquillity at night here, no matter how tough the day was. Softly her feet traversed the main barn, slipping unnoticed into the tack room. On a small, forsaken corner of the room hung an old bridle whose cracking leather was carefully stitched together. The bit's rust stains had started to disappear, a sign of renewed use. Almira gathered this quietly, putting it on her shoulder. At the lowest rung on the opposite wall, she hauled the old saddle into her arms, careful to not let the rusty hardware bang against each other. Akin to a ghost, she slipped out of the room again.

The fine ears of Arabian horses turned to the footsteps, dished faces poked over their stall doors. They saw who it was and turned back to their dark rooms, uninterested. At the very end of the stable was a tiny stall that was usually looked over. Its resident also poked his head out, his larger ears pricked in her direction.

"Hey, boy," Almira whispered, stroking the gelding's neck. The horse responded with an impatient toss of his head.

As she put the bridle on him, Sofian just about grabbed the bit out of her hands. It was dangerous practice to tack a horse up here, but she couldn't risk taking him all the way over to the tie-up posts. The stable hands slept in a building just next to the tack room and the hoof beats would surely wake them. Fortunately, Sofian's previous owners had trained him well in the art of restraining himself.

_Clomp. Clomp._ At night when everything else is quiet, any sort of noise seemed deafening.

Almira grimaced with every step Sofian took, constantly expecting shouts of "horse thief!" from the main building. She took him around the stable, as she did every night since being assigned here, to the corral that Ahmed often used to train older horses. Once the fence was within sight, she breathed a sigh of relief. As long as she didn't cause a ruckus, she was out of earshot of her sleeping colleagues. Sofian stood still for her to mount.

Once in the saddle, she forgot all about the tiring day and her conversation with Altaïr. Her muscles positioned themselves without a conscious effort from her as she guided her willing companion into a graceful dance. She was falling in love with him and his movements. They would have taken each other to the highest levels of competition if they were together in another time. Almira was trying to coax a piaffe out of Sofian's collected trot when the form of a person appeared by the fence. Her heart rate instantly shot through the roof, bringing her horse to a halt. Upon sensing his rider's unease, the horse looked around, snorting nervously.

"Beautiful! Do not stop on my account."

Almira gasped, and all but fell to the ground when she frantically tried to dismount. Sofian jerked away in alarm, sidestepping to see where had his rider gone. Words swarmed in Almira's head, but her mouth had suddenly turned dry. Ahmed stood on the other side of the fence, his face too dark for her to see if he's angry or not. When her mind came out of shock mode, she clambered over the fence.

"Oh my God, I-_I am so sorry…_" Almira blurted, trying to stop herself from hyperventilating. Even though Ahmed rarely used the black gelding, that horse was still his property. She wasn't a trainer, which meant she does not have the privilege of riding his horses, no matter how unused they were. Horse thieving carried the heaviest penalties in Masyaf, up to and including being publicly hanged. Every night she dreaded of being caught, and the only reason she kept on was Sofian's talent. She intentionally didn't ask for permission, because she knew she couldn't keep away if he said no.

Her thoughts crashed into one another, faintly aware that she was repeating herself. The silhouette of the horseman burned itself into her mind, never to be forgotten.

After what seemed an eternity, hearty laughter reached her ears.

Ahmed was laughing?

"Ha! Never in my life did I think I can provoke _such_ a response!" The elderly man leaned against the rails while intermittent laughs shook his body. He coughed several times, and then spat on the grass growing beneath the fence. He raised a hand.

"Stop apologizing Almira, I am not angry. Had you taken another horse I would be, but this animal cannot win a race against my slowest donkey – completely worthless. I only kept him around to see what you might do."

"What?" She straightened a bit.

Ahmed stepped into the moonlight, a twinkle in his eyes. "Oh young child, you didn't think I'd overlook the fact that he kept his strength despite never leaving his stall, did you? Or that his coat is always so clean and shiny? Or the little bits of carrots I often find in his stall, which also happens to be even cleaner than the stalls of my _asil_ mares?"

Almira didn't respond, but hunched over sheepishly.

"You clearly liked him from the beginning, and with him being so useless I figured there _must_ be a reason for your affections." Ahmed gazed across the arena, studying the black horse, "he was a bit stiff at the trot tonight."

"So…all this time, you knew?" Almira asked, but the question came out sounding more like a statement.

"Of course. With old age, sleep has evaded me. I often take walks around town and one night saw you here with him. At first, I thought about charging you with misconduct but then I noticed the harmony between you two. Been watching you ever since." Ahmed paused, "you are a good rider in a strange discipline. Where did you learn, and for how long?"

Almira's heart lifted at the compliment. "I started riding since I could remember, and I was taught by the best horseman in the area."

"To train a horse to trot in place, I expected nothing less," the horseman remarked. "You did all this in mere months?"

"Oh no, of course not. He was very well trained by his previous owners; I just picked up where they left off."

A silence lingered, until Ahmed broke it.

"So you are learned in the Templars' ways of riding?"

"The Templars didn't invent it; it's not fair to credit them." Her voice suddenly took on an unpleasant edge.

Ahmed noticed it too, and for a moment was silenced by surprise.

"Ah, it matters not, good riding is good riding," he finally said in a cheery tone.

"Now, Almira, that beast is useless to me and eats far more than he can earn back. I will sell him for ten dirhams if you wish to take him." Ahmed added, sounding businesslike.

The girl was faintly aware that she was gawking at the stable owner. Ten dirhams will take her two months to earn back, but it was extremely cheap for a big horse like Sofian. Ahmed could easily get twenty from the butcher.

"I will take him!" she exclaimed, before Ahmed could change his mind. "I'll provide everything else as well, and rent his stall from you."

"Good, a good arrangement. And now I must punish you for taking my property without permission."

Her heart sank an inch, even though Ahmed looked surprisingly pleasant.

"From now on your job will be to exercise my horses. On Raja's days, you must arrive early enough to warm up the ones scheduled for that day's missions."

Never had Almira grinned so widely all the way home.

* * *

_Note: Yes I switched the chapters around. I went back and re-read the transition and realized I seriously messed up the momentum of the story. Nothing in the content changed, just the order they're presented in._

_Again, many thanks to Blue Sigma for betaing this chapter._


	13. Chapter 10 and a half

_The all-encompassing disclaimer: for those who get the references, I do not own Bioshock or Half-Life 2 and of course not Assassin's Creed._

* * *

**CH 10.5**

Director Erinen Stence cursed silently as he walked briskly down the hallway. The door scanners sensed his intent to enter and started confirming various aspects of his identity before he came within five steps. As he neared the steely panels dematerialized before him, and he walked in without a break in his stride. The warmly toned office inside was dominated by a large curved table and several holographic projectors. Erinen Stence took his place in the black faux-leather chair, opposite six stern looking men and women. A scanner sent his likeness to a projector to each other other six's rooms.

"Chancellors." The Director nodded.

"Director, are you aware of the current situation?" The middle-aged balding man to his right said in a voice as sharp as surgical knife.

Stence coughed softly. "The tracker shorted out and I wasn't informed of much, other than SIDT working beautifully."

"Well, then, allow me to update you. A17 was attacked, both Sentinels were destroyed. She's not hurt, but you were supposed to monitor her surroundings, Director."

"Attacked!? Impossible! Not this close to the Citadel." The Director responded incredulously.

"But it _happened_. This group had some major funding and resources. They were able to bypass the Citadel's detection, rendering themselves invisible to it." Said the blond man from the far left.

"What?" Erinen gasped. He didn't believe such technologies existed. "Who in this world can bypass our defense system?"

The Asian woman to his immediate left spoke. "We managed to salvage a device that had failed to self-detonate. As we speak, other Developers are working on reverse-engineering it. This should, no, this _wi__ll not_ happen again."

"Ok, let's not forget what really went on." Issued the brunette woman to his right, looking intensely irritated. "They were clearly going after A17. I'm sure you all remember what happened last time with A9. We're downplaying this too much, we need to keep them where it's safest. Indoors!"

Stence frowned, he liked the brunette the least. "Chancellor Richard, with all due respect, SIDT was invented so we can keep them safe should unforeseen circumstances occur," the Director countered, "they need to have some fresh air, and A17 is very particular about where she want to go. I think we should focus on other things. Had the Citadel not been compromised, this wouldn't have happened at all."

Eliza Richard's mouth frown into a thin line. It was an unwise move to retort a Chancellor so bluntly, but he believed in what he said.

"Well, bad news aside," The black man next to Richards spoke, trying to mediate the tension, "this drew out a core group of rebels who had eluded us for a while now. Your girl left their leader alive, albeit severely injured. We have him in custody right now. When he recovers he will tell us who funded them, and then he will be made into an example." He added an icy touch to his last words. A few years ago, The Six made it clear to the world that anyone who lays a finger on this country's assets shall suffer unimaginable consequences.

"The Citadel is not the main problem here. The problem is _you_ were incompetent in protecting your assignment, and her being outside just made it worse." Richard snarled, not letting the matter rest.

The meeting then deteriorated into Richard pushing the main blame onto Stence, and Stence trying to push it onto the Citadel. The other five quickly became intolerant of such behaviors.

The imposing figure of the man sitting directly in front of Erinen spoke. "Ok, _drop it _you two. Director, both you and the defense system are to blame, but that's not the most important thing right now. A17 is popular, and the people are worried about her. You will issue a press release this afternoon stating that she is recovering swiftly. Tell them our soldiers took down the rebels. Mention nothing about SIDT. We cannot allow our enemies to know about it. For her own safety, A17 is to be kept inside the most secure area of the Miles Research Center until further notice. Two replacement Sentinels will be sent over this evening."

"Chancellor Haytham, I don't think it is in our best interest to lock her up. At least allow her to walk around the center. We can provide-"

"Director," Richard cut in, her hazel eyes colder than ice, "I'm sure you can find _something_ of interest without letting our multi-billion-dollar asset wander the streets."

"Or just give her some time off," Haytham suggested lightly, "we still don't know what mental and physical effects, if any, SIDT might have. This is a great opportunity to study that." His words were greeted with consenting nods from his collegues.

The Director relented; he was on thin ice as is.

After some finishing sentences The Six concluded the meeting, their holographic ghosts disappearing as they stood up. Machines powered down quietly and Erinen made a beeline for the door, eager to see his charge before she regains consciousness.

* * *

A fog hung above me.

_Fiery metal exploded in the distance. The fresh smell of ozone choked the air, along with the sickening sweet scent of gunpowder. Where the hell did they get such advanced weaponry?_

_ A masked man cried, said he hated and despised us. He pointed his rifle at me and pulled the trigger. _

_I've never seen such unyielding hate._

I also can't recall anything beyond that.

A machine beeped rhythmically in the background, in time to my heart. I'm in a hospital?

The first thing to greet me was the dim, soft white diffused light. It's a hospital room alright. Various machines and scanners littered the room but otherwise it's pretty quiet. A tall man studied the readings on one of the machines.

"Director?" My voice was far raspier than I thought. My mentor turned around.

"Hey kid." He said softly, sitting on a chair beside my bed. I tried to turn to face him.

Holy God I must've pulled every muscle in my body!

"Wha? How did I get here?"

"Don't move. Don't worry, you're fine, you're safe. You've been out for the past few hours."

I contemplated his words. A few hours?

"SIDT?"

"It saved your life."

I suddenly blanched. "What have I done?"

"SIDT does nothing bad, remember that," he reassured. "It keeps you safe."

Whatever the cost.

Director Stence spoke again, but his words were lost on me. The vivid chaos would not stop replaying itself in my head.

_Othello was trapped, half-flattened, beneath the freight hovertruck they managed to dump on him. Even so, his arm would not let go of me. The men surrounding us produced a contained explosive unit. Wires and hydraulics disconnected and flew everywhere in a shower of sparks. _

_The colossal needle-like structure in the distance watched on silently, an apathetic witness to treason. It had a 30-mile radius in which it could blast anything without high enough clearance to smoldering bits, ground or air. _

_But if someone told it not to…_

"The Citadel."

"We're already working on it." My Director smiled and ruffled my hair.

I felt a sudden rush of glee. "Can I help? I can totally sort through the data."

"No." My face fell in response to his firm answer. "The Chancellors chose to give you some time off instead." Disappointment quickly gave way to anger.

"What!?" I shouted. "Time off? What're they thinking?"

"They feel it's the best course of action right now," my Director said calmly, "and I second their choice."

"No! You can't do that to me! Appeal it! Change their minds."

"No young lady, I will not appeal. You _will_ take time off." He looked dead serious. I turned away from him, pouting.

His facial expression softened as he tried to move a stray stand of hair out of my face. I pulled away. My Director sighed in exasperation.

"The doctors will do some final tests, then you can come home." When I didn't respond, he got up to leave.

"Director." He turned around.

"Othello and Darek, are they there already?"

"No. They were destroyed in the fight." My Director looked away, as if in regret.

I said nothing. I couldn't say anything. I stared at my bedsheets.

"I'll wait for you at the MRC." He spoke softly, and then left the room.

After a while of staring, a strange emptiness filled me.

* * *

A few hours and too many tests later, I was transported to my home by two platoons of trained killers. In the streets the common citizens stared up at my tinted, heavily armored vehicle. They smiled and waved, and some held up huge well wishing posters; the colorful words and drawings danced across the thin fibers. I waved back to some of them.

The facility loomed forth like a huge ice cube. My Director waited in front, as he said he would. He helped me into a wheelchair. Six uniformed guards followed us all the way to my underground room. The bed was covered with new white sheets.

I frowned in disdain. Why can't they get black sheets, or some other color? At least the bed itself was comfortable.

My Director excused himself as soon as I got settled. The doors slid shut behind him with a light pneumonic hiss. Since the lights were on they were slightly translucent; just enough for the shadows of the soldiers' black uniforms to show through. Some minutes later the shadows left. My double doors slid apart, and my new guardians strode through the opening.

They were impressive feats of engineering, mostly designed by three Developers in the Defense department. I had a small hand in creating the optical and visual interface. They towered over me at seven foot six, protected by the black hybrid composite armor that gave no reflection. The black armor and the color of their status lights were deliberately chosen to instill doubt in those harboring dark intentions. They stood straight now, the lights between the gaps in their black armor shown in a friendly green. After this first meeting, it will never be green again.

"Call me Diora. What are your names?" I asked.

"Theo." The one to my left answered in a deep, human-like voice.

"Gunther." Said his identical twin. Gunther bowed to me, an action of his own choosing. I like him.

Suddenly both their lights transitioned to an angry red. A shadow fell across my door, followed by light, timid knocks.

"Come in."

A young woman walked through the entrance. She held a small black cube gingerly with both hands.

My life! She returned with it!

"Your cellular device, ma'am." She stopped about five feet short of me, bending over to hand me the cube. Young recruits are often too scared to approach me, afraid of angering my two leviathans.

"Thank you." I accepted the black mass. Upon touching my skin, the cube melted into a black rectangular block. A faint purplish sheen shone beneath the black.

"We've cleaned it thoroughly."

My eyes flickered up. "Why would you need to clean it?"

"Uh..." She gaped, blue eyes wide, "It...it was dirty."

I didn't believe her; my smartphone literally repelled dust. My skeptism must've showed, because she soon turned red with embarrassment.

"I...I need to go." She turned and almost ran out of my room.

I studied my trusted device. _Revert back to your last active state._

The smartphone contorted in my palm, morphing into a hard, curved object. The first four inches resembled a rough handle, the next six inches had sharp edges, and the tip finished into a piercing black point.

A knife.

No. Not just a knife. This offensive weapon has a stun function incorporated; anyone it contacts would be sliced and electrocuted at the same time.

"Holy shit." I muttered; I didn't know the basics of wielding a knife.

The form lasted for only a minute, after which the black mass shifted back into a purplish-black brick. I shook my head, deciding to rest on my curiosity for now. There must be a good reason for Director to not tell me what happened. I set the block down on my bed, sliding a finger across the top. Immediately, thin purple lines glowed brightly on the body of my cell. A colorful display popped up; small icons dancing in the air above the device. I poked at the air, making a few more icons appear as buds off of the main bubble. I was tired, but I figured it's only polite to reply to a few messages sent by my concerned colleagues. After I finished, I laid down on my bed and turned off the display.

I smiled as the music started; it was a beautiful piece saved from the voids of history. Whoever composed it must've been a genius of his or her time.

"Theo, go guard the door. Gunther stay here, but turn off your light."

Theo obediently about-faced and marched out of the translucent double doors. I must admit, the black and red contrast does make him look sinister. At my command the room lights turned off, which also made the doors darken. Gunther was invisible in the blackness. The notes of Clair de Lune surrounded me as I drifted off into sleep.

* * *

_La__rge glass window panels stretched from floor to ceiling. Outside, the sun was setting, coloring the sky a blood red. _

_Déjà vu. I've seen this before. Many, many years ago._

_On my left wrist there's a small pink and white charm bracelet and the floor felt pleasantly warm on my bare feet._

_City lights blazed from below, from the bottom of the Citadel all the way out to the horizon. The edges of the horizon glowed._

_"Beautiful, isn't it?" Skylea finally said. Our juvenile reflections stared back at us. She, like me, was also barefoot. _

_"Beautiful?"_

_"Until you realize why it's glowing so brightly."_

_I stared at her. Her dark brown eyes reflecting the sunset._

_"It grows bigger every year, and the wind brings it dangerously close. It makes me sad." She murmured._

_"We'll have to fix it, all of us. I hear it'll be our first assignment."_

_I had no idea how we're going to fix it. Nothing in my sea of information helped. _

_No_, a thought occurred to me even in my dream-laden state, _not then._

_Skylea sighed. "Come on. Chancellors want us."_

_She grabbed my hand, pulling me. Behind me the sun had gone down, leaving only the glowing horizon. _

_The glow grew menacingly bright, closing in on us, swallowing the city lights in its radioactive fury._

_I screamed, terrified._

I opened my eyes, feeling like I can't breathe. A familiar feeling washed over me.

It's been almost two years since my miraculous C6 discovery. The days pass and I feel I am no closer to the end than the day I set foot in here.

"Are you alright? I detect high levels of stress." Gunther's voice emanated softly from the darkness.

I sat up, "go get me some water."

For a machine as big as he, Gunther moved amazingly quiet. The doors opened again and blurred light poured in from the hallway. He went around the vigilant Theo and the doors slid shut with a soft hiss.

Oh no, don't cry.

I put the covers to my eyes and tried to not make a sound. Still, it was too late. The doctors are going to pick me apart tomorrow.

God I missed her.

* * *

_Note: Yes, Diora is very sad. _

_On another note, I can't wait for Nov! I hope they'll make Ezio a tad more emotional than Altair. They're both amazingly sexy though. And I must admit it's kinda weird to see all these AC2 fanfics running around when we don't even know Ezio's personality. Ah well, whatever makes ya happy I guess._

_If you're puzzled about this future pizzazz don't worry, it'll all make sense later. And as always, your readership and reviews are very welcomed :)_


	14. Chapter 11

**CH 11**

The morning bells were ringing as Almira hurried pass the throng of servants at the entrance of the fortress. Exercising the horses took more time than she had planned and the bells meant she was late. Raja shot her a dirty look as she went over the day's duties. Fortunately for her, Almira's stay at the hospital wasn't over yet. She made a point not to look at her supposed superior and dashed into Halim's jurisdiction.

The day didn't deviate much from the usual. By now she has learned to effectively turn away the stubborn civilians with their shallow scratches, even if it meant becoming rather malicious at times. She also found the quiet places in the hospital where she could hide for a good half hour; it was via these frowned-upon rest stops that she met all of the lazier workers in the hospital. Halim probably knew about these hidden corners, but he was too busy to go around and check for idlers.

The dining hall was packed like usual, giving off a cacophony of chatter mixed with the clangs of bowls and cups. Almira chewed slowly on the bread, staring unfocused into the rest of the dining hall. A slim figure appeared beside her.

"Ugh." Ikram grunted, setting her plate down with more force than necessary. A few drops of water spilt from her cup.

"What's wrong? I didn't get you in trouble did I?"

"Huh? Oh no, not at all. But I did stay until well into the night and the replacement guards would not stop harassing me."

Ikram took her seat on the well-worn bench, looking at her older friend pointedly. Almira pretended not to notice.

"Come now, what happened in there?" Ikram finally gave in to her curiosity.

"Nothing. Nothing happened. I returned something he'd lost."

"You were in there for a long time just to return something."

"We talked."

Ikram straightened immediately, ignoring her lunch. "You spoke to Altaïr? What is he like?"

"He's a confident man. He talks like one."

"But all that time..."

"What else did you expect? Something carnal?"

Ikram blushed, immediately looking away. "Humph, uh, no." She rested her chin on her palm. "But I see him everyday, and yet I have not the courage to speak with him."

"Why? Altaïr is still a person, just say what you would to any stranger."

"But this is Altaïr! Take any girl here and she will become smitten and petrified in front of him; my own heart would not still when I see him." Ikram eyed her friend with…jealousy?

"I do not understand how you can act so relaxed. This is not fair! And Altaïr is not simply a person..." Ikram's voice trailed off as her mind wandered.

Almira raised an eyebrow. "You make him sound like a god. Like Allah."

"No, he is _not_ like Allah." Ikram suddenly hissed in irriation, something that made Almira freeze. "I know you don't believe, but do not joke like this."

A dark blush crept up Almira's cheeks; her last sentence was blasphemy, heresy, and impiety all rolled into one. What did she expect? She looked away, trying to find some point of interest along the far wall of the hall. Ikram also seemed uncomfortable with her sudden flare of temper, sipping water carefully and trying not to make any noise. After a while the young maiden broke apart her bread and placed them on her plate in a rough pattern, which she then destroyed by eating a piece.

"I may be getting married soon," she said lightly, changing the topic. "Yesterday evening a man asked my father for my hand, someone he very much approves of."

Almira glanced at her, her cheeks still a bit red. "Oh? Who?"

"He refused to tell me! Only that he is an assassin here." Ikram's playful eyes flitted across the room at the mass of white-robed men, the earlier tension long forgotten.

"A brother here. Wow. Congratulations."

The young girl smiled. "Now my mind will not rest regarding who he might be." She said softly, with an excited undertone. "He must be one of the older apprentices, because anyone higher would not look for a wife among servants."

"When will you find out?"

"I shall meet him by the end of this week. Oh I simply can't wait!" Ikram grinned widely. She grabbed a piece of bread and unknowingly dipped it into her water cup.

* * *

Altaïr lied on the hard bed, staring at the dusty ceiling illuminated by the filtered light. How in the world can dust stick to a ceiling?

The first week since getting admitted to the infirmary was absolute agony. In the beginning he couldn't even change his sleeping position without going to hell and back. Adding to his discomfort was the healers' decision to stop the pain medicine after he stabilized, for fear of getting him addicted. A good reason, he realized now, but back then all he wanted to do was murder every single one of them. The pain had mostly faded into a dull ache, unless he tried to lift his arms or inhaled too deeply. Every three days a doctor came in and examined the wound, then changed the gauze covering. Twice a day a frail-looking servant girl would bring him food, along with an assortment of medicine that he must take in front of her.

After Almira's visit two weeks ago, nobody other than Malik and his brother came in to see him with the intention of staying longer than five minutes. Kadar actually visited him earlier today, only to be berated by him for leaving his lesson. Most of the other assassins dropped by just to be polite.

Only two weeks, and he wanted to pull out his hair in boredom.

To counteract it, Altaïr took great pleasure in riddling the walls of his cell with his returned throwing knife. He was careful to keep the holes sparse and apart since weapons were forbidden on the wounded. The only exception was the hidden blade because it was an earned privilege. Everyday he would practice hurling the knife at an imaginary target on the wall until he could no longer lift his arms.

Altaïr glanced at the door, hearing voices on the other side. Per orders of Al Mualim, two guards were stationed outside his door to "protect" him, when really it's to prevent him from leaving without permission. He had expected to have some non-assassin visitors every now and then, but to his dismay the two guards decided to take up duties as his own private doormen. Other than the food-bringing servant girl, Almira was the only one to get past them.

_Almira._ He couldn't stop thinking about what she said. The date she gave was definitely not from the Hijri calendar.

He entertained his Templar theory. Being cunning and deceiving creatures, it will be just like them to plant a spy here, to observe and to alert them of potential weaknesses. There was only one problem: a real scout will never let slip something so obvious. He would then hiss with frustration and pace around his room like a horse with bad stable vices.

Even in his hurt state the only thought on his mind was about escaping from this prison. He had even taken to wearing his uniform so he'll blend in better outside if the occasion arises.

* * *

Almira hummed quietly to herself as she swept the ground floor of the hospital. The moon shone brightly outside. The other woman assigned to sweep was off by the other end of the room, so she was more or less alone. She hasn't heard from Ikram since her excited announcement.

On a grimmer note, two servant maids were brutally murdered just two nights ago. Their mouths were tightly gagged to muffle their screams and their mutilated bodies were found hanging from meat hooks on one of the market's rafters. Such an act of brutality placed great stress on the castle's servant girls, a small number of whom insisted on leaving before sundown and the vast majority would not stay after dark. Even the threat of pay cut couldn't change their minds. Only the poorest or bravest of the girls continued to work as before. And because of this sudden shortage of labor, Almira found herself being given an assortment of totally different duties, often all in the same day.

"Almira, come here."

She leaned her broom against a wall before approaching Halim. The tall, rotund man always seemed busy, but maintained a peaceful aura about him. Almira could tell that he must've been a handsome man in his early years, but now his waistline had extended in proportion with his age.

"Get these to the cleaners." Halim gently tapped the big basket next to him with a foot, and then walked off to supervise another servant.

Almira had the load up in her arms and started to move when the stench hit her. It overwhelmed her nostrils, making her exhale sharply in shock and to drop the basket. She took a moment to catch her breath, wondering what abomination of nature she was carrying.

"What is going on there?" Halim's booming voice came from the other end of the room, "Would you kindly move? You do not get paid to stand around!"

Holding her breath, she tried again, this time wedging the basket to the side. She got as far as the darkened path before her oxygen ran out. But now that Halim was out of sight, she could place the basket on the ground without fear of repercussion. In the tall bushes something stirred.

"Who's there!?" She shouted, moving behind the big basket. Oh how she wished she still had Altaïr's dagger!

The bushes waved in earnest, until they finally parted to reveal a small girl. "Just me, no need for alarm."

"_Holy_…agh, you really scared me, don't do that again."

Ikram brushed off the twigs and leaves, and then bounced in Almira's direction.

"I am getting married! To an _assassin_!" She exclaimed excitedly, then quickly settled down and glanced around nervously.

"Well, that's great." Almira said, feigning enthusiasm. She would much rather get out the darkness and into some guard's line of sight.

"I want to tell you in person before we announce the news tomorrow. There will surely be misleading rumors."

Almira suddenly felt a surge of warmth. Ikram wanted to tell her in person, _at night_, after what happened so recently. Still, that did not evaporate the icy fear that tugged at her chest.

"That is very generous of you, Ikram, but you shouldn't be out right now." She pushed the basket with a foot, trying to get into some light. "And where were you the last two weeks?" Ikram pulled her back.

"Sorry I disappeared," the girl said apologetically, "but I do not know where you live and I can never find you. And ever since that _awful_ thing," she shuddered, "may Allah rest their souls…ever since that happened my parents forbade me from staying out after dusk. Why did you not come to find me?"

Almira pushed her hair behind her ear, even though there were no stray strands. "I apologize Ikram. I…I don't know where you live either."

The two girls stood eyeing each other, until Ikram straightened up.

"Hmm, I thought you knew. Ah, we are both at fault then, and thus we are even."

"Say, can we go somewhere else? Somewhere not so…open?" As soon as she said that, Almira felt herself being dragged off to the side.

"No, not into the bushes either!"

"Apologies! But if anybody sees me and tells my parents, I shall receive the beating of my life!" Ikram said with a tinge of fear.

"What about my basket? I need to get that to the cleaners _now_."

"The stench! I do not want to announce my future husband's name while smelling that."

Almira tugged her hand from Ikram's grip, refusing to go any further. "Alright, fine, who is the lucky man?"

Ikram's eyes twinkled in the moonlight, smirking widely. She paused for dramatic effect.

"Jamal ibn Nidal."

Almira felt her mouth fall open with awe. When she had just arrived at the castle, Ikram took to discreetly pointing out every distinguished assassin they saw. Jamal was renowned for his ability to kill and vanish to the Bureau even before the city bells start tolling. No wonder Ikram dared to look for her at night.

"The _Elite_ Assassin?!"

"Yes!" Ikram gushed, "Jamal is such a kind man. My family loves him! I sometimes fear this is all a dream and I'll wake up promised to no one."

"I certainly am not dreaming right now." Almira said cheerfully. "Congratulations. Now can we go somewhere not so dark?"

"Soon, I cannot stay out for long anyway," Ikram said quickly. "Jamal and my parents are trying to decide upon a good date. You must come to my wedding ceremony."

"Yes, of course, just tell me when." She answered, to which Ikram broke into a toothy grin.

"It should be soon, I see no reason to wait more than a month. I must go now. My parents will assume the worst if they discover me missing."

The small girl gave her a swift embrace, and then turned and squeezed into the dense shrubbery, though Almira could hear her trying to make a path for herself long after. She walked back to her abandoned basket, again exhaling sharply at the nauseating odor.

Ikram was getting married, and to such a high-ranking assassin. The whole fortress would be buzzing with gossip tomorrow, no doubt about it. Almira shook her head. She should be happy, or perhaps excited for her friend, but she felt nothing. Marriage was, after all, something to be expected here, nothing unusual. With a huff she heaved the heavy basket onto her hip, picking her way carefully through the darkened dirt road.

* * *

Kadar sat on the roof of the hospital, fingering the hilt of the novice sword and watching the movements below. His amputated finger had healed nicely, leaving behind a rough pinched stump that was neatly covered by the leather gloves. He turned to his tense instructor.

"Master, I am sure you would have seen something if the killer decides to come out." He said, trying to get his mentor to relax a little.

Unlike Kadar, who hung his legs over the side, Jamal sat crouched, ready to sprint down the roofs if needed. His betrothed had really lost her head and vanished into the bushes – a prime spot for a silent killing. He felt some small measure of comfort upon seeing the plants sway in accordance to her path and no other suspicious movements. Still, how dare she wander out at night? And all by herself! It takes a mere second to end a life, as Jamal knew only too well.

He, like most everyone, was shocked when the news broke out. The mere notion of someone able to perform such a gruesome murder right under the noses of the Assassins was unnerving. He entertained the idea that the killer is actually a brother gone seriously astray from the tenets of the Creed. If so, that person might move on from the First tenet to the Second, and from there to the Third. Al Mualim apparently came to the same conclusion. On that day, the Grand Master commanded his most trusted pupils to watch from the shadows. Jamal decided to bring Kadar along on his patrols, believing this unfortunate event may prove to be a useful lesson.

After days of peaceful quiet, however, his student's mind began to wander.

"But really, master, of all the beauties in Masyaf, why such a lowly servant girl?" The young novice tried to distract the older man. Though Jamal ranked far above him, and was more than fifteen years older, they had an unusual friendship. The older assassin usually treated Kadar like an equal, and would often chat with him about the little things in life. He had never even beaten the young boy, something unheard of between teachers and students. A scowled crawled across Jamal face.

"I fancy her, is that not a satisfactory reason?" He said flatly. Below, his betrothed startled another servant. Almira al-Dimashqi, he recalled. Like all of the high-ranking assassins, Jamal had memorized the names and faces of every person in the fortress.

"But why? She will not bear easily, just look at that sickly frame." Kadar commented, becoming bold.

Jamal faced him, his brows furrowed tightly together, piercing eyes flush with displeasure. Kadar immediately knew that he had struck a nerve, and turned away to study the city walls. Even so, his posture deflated under the older man's glare. Pleased with reducing his student to a quivering hunchback, the Elite Assassin refocused his attention on the darkness below.

Suddenly he spoke. "I know many people are puzzled, angered even, regarding my decision. It is one I have thought many times over myself. In the end, however, I have no family to oblige. I am free to choose whoever I will."

"But you rank so much higher than her, it would not match well." The young teenager said meekly.

"That is for me and her father to decide." Jamal's tone signaled the end of this topic.

Below, the bushes moved again. A servant emerged from the darkness, walking right below Kadar's feet. The shrubbery swayed again as an unseen person battled for a path. Jamal's body unconsciously relaxed.

Feeling exhausted from an entire day's training, Kadar yawned, something his instructor did not appreciate.

"Never signal to your enemies that you are tired, it will make them less intimidated and more likely to attack. We want to avoid unnecessary confrontation as much as possible," the assassin lectured. His pupil listened half-heartedly, stifling another yawn.

Jamal grumbled irritably, and somewhat in resignation, realizing that Kadar's lack of stamina was partly his fault, as lately he has allowed himself to get distracted by Ikram and let the training slide. It was only with Malik volunteered tutoring that the youngster didn't totally forget everything. Jamal shook his head, making a mental note to himself that starting tomorrow, he must make Kadar his priority again.

* * *

_Note: bleh, rather slow chapter I know, just laying down the groundwork. Thanks for reading!_


	15. Chapter 12

**CH 12**

Altaïr grimaced at the horrible aftertaste of the medicine. When the girl took back the cup their fingers briefly brushed, causing a deep blush to creep abruptly up her neck and face. She quickly backed away for the door, holding onto the cup tightly. Altaïr leaned back, studying his personal servant who also never turned her back on him. She was a good maid who did her duties faithfully, though sometimes he questioned her loyalty to the hospital; on more than one occasion she had pressed the plaster back into a hole that gaped too close to the door, so she must know that he had a weapon on his person. Such tacit cooperation made him regard her, if not warmly, then at least not as coolly. But she was too quiet, so quiet in fact that Altaïr thought her mute until she spoke to his guards. She opened the door and backed out of it, allowing him a peek at the forbidden freedom just beyond before closing the wooden exit.

Sighing, Altaïr turned his attention onto the meal she'd just brought in. Flat bread, plain hummus, and bland soup, just like the day before, and the day before that. The sight was enough to chase away his appetite. Several minutes later he recognized a familiar rapping on the door.

"Come in." Altaïr said, trying to conceal his elation. Another two weeks had crawled past and he was having troubles hiding the notches in the walls. On the flipside, his aim had improved considerably.

"Altaïr, it seems at a time like this you are lacking companions." Malik remarked, striding in from the doorway. He sat on the stool, trying to scrap the dirt from beneath his fingernails. Malik was his main source of information from the outside world, from whom he learned of Jamal's intentions to marry a lowly servant girl named Ikram. He had no idea who Ikram was, and didn't care enough about the issue to ask.

"Companions are burdens. I do not need nor want burdens." Altaïr said firmly, sitting up.

"A good saying for the battlefield, but come now, do you _really_ enjoy being alone and locked up in here?" His friend countered swiftly, still picking at his nails. Altaïr scowled; Malik's habit annoyed him. Suddenly, the older man looked at him with a strange expression.

"If you wish, I can arrange for a Courtesan to pay you a visit. Surely you are strong enough now, yes?"

"A _most generous _offer that I have no need for."

"Very well," Malik shrugged, and then waved a hand in front of his nose, "but you should seriously consider a bath."

"You know I am forbidden to take baths."

"But they allow you to shave," Malik helpfully pointed out.

"Enough. Out with it, why are you here?"

Malik feigned surprise, before turning back to his nails.

"To visit you, good friend. Why else would I be here?" Malik said nonchalantly, finally satisfied with one hand. He could feel Altaïr's gaze boring holes through his head.

"Fine, fine. News came from Fahra."

"Oh?" Altaïr instantly brightened up.

"A bad news of sorts."

"What?!"

"Calm down. She is fine, physically." His friend said, and then proceeded to clean out his other hand.

Altaïr wanted to strangle him. "Malik!"

"No need for violence," his friend smirked, "I happened to chance upon a message from Fahra on Al Mualim's desk. While she dealt with two of her targets, the remaining one fled by sea. She is still trying to track him so it will take her much longer before she comes back."

Altaïr frowned. That was certainly not good.

"I thought you might like to hear that before you torment yourself with worry."

"Speak sense. I have no cause for concern."

"If I withhold this information, two weeks from now you will be questioning the Master about Fahra, and bring down his wrath upon both of you."

Altaïr looked away, rubbing his nose uncomfortably.

"You may need to be more inconspicuous. As of now I know, Kadar knows, and many others as well." Malik stated plainly. Altaïr looked mournfully at the door, thinking of various stealthy and non-stealthy ways of escaping.

"I cannot stay in this room any longer. You must help me get out, brother."

"What? Are you out of your mind?" exclaimed Malik. "You are _not_ going after her."

"Of course not! But I _am_ bored to death here!"

"There are guards outside!"

"Such an excellent observation," Altaïr said sarcastically, "I will need you to distract them."

"No!"

Altaïr tried to hurl his throwing knife with his eyes. "I am your superior!"

"Not for much longer! I shall _not_ have the Master's wrath on me!" Malik shot up from the unsteady stool, looking rather flustered. A brawling battle of wills was how their conversations usually degenerated into.

Altaïr clenched his fists at his friend, and subordinate's response. He would have gotten out long ago if using his arms for combat wasn't so agonizing. With Malik's refusal, Altaïr contemplated trying to knock down the guards himself, if only to add some excitement into his day.

_Damn him!_ He thought vehemently as he watched his friend step over the threshold, while he could only look on from his bed of planks. The door closed again.

Outside, sharp groans penetrated the wooden material. A second later, he heard two dull thuds and the door swung slowly inwards. Altaïr stared at it, curious and alarmed at the same time. He got up off the hard bed, walking carefully to the exit. From the doorway he could see his two guards lying unconscious on the other side. He poked into the hallway, seeing nobody else.

_On second thought, he is not damned after all._

Altaïr smirked, stepping over the limp bodies. He pulled his hood low, put up the confident strut of a deadly assassin, and nobody dared cross him as he strode into the main area of the infirmary. What he didn't think about was the bright light that flooded into his eyes, and thus a blinding blue afterimage of the hospital's large double doors was all he saw as he stumbled out of the building.

Outside, the sun shone fiercely upon the Holy Land. Altaïr sighed in contentment at the dry heat and warm wind that caressed his skin. He treaded along the large path leading away from the hospital and by shifting the way he held himself, he could appear as unassuming as the average peasant or as menacing as Death itself. It was something he honed to perfection, for he knew it would help greatly on his missions. He thought about looking for Malik to thank him, but decided against it since his other brothers would surely recognize him if he walked aimlessly around the fortress. Instead, he followed the crowd all the way to the marketplace, where they started dispersing to look at merchants' wares. Altaïr slipped into an alley. There was no need to mingle with the commoners, for now he shall head for the lonely rooftop.

Some minutes later the white-robed man groaned in pain and anger; apparently his unhealed chest wound also prevented him from scaling walls. The stench and cries of the city's poor reached him, making him even more repulsed of his surroundings. They stared at him, drawn in by his clean clothes. They knew the uniform of the Assassins, but without any weapons on his person, they believe him to be a wealthy man instead, or maybe a lost merchant.

Armed with only his hidden blade and a throwing knife, Altaïr felt oddly vulnerable. A wealthy-looking man in the gutters of civilization was bound to get mugged. Since he wasn't supposed to be out, causing a scene would do him no good.

Altaïr straightened up, glaring daggers at the several beggars closing in on him. He turned on his heel and marched away into the busy plaza once more, taking care to keep his head low. A gangly boy rushed past him, followed by several younger lads wearing off-white tunics; the older boy was presumably their "target". Altaïr couldn't help but grin at such child's play; if only they knew the grisly reality of blood and murder.

Finally, the hustle and bustle of the town waned. Altaïr plodded along the lonely path that wound around Masyaf. It was created centuries ago, leading to two overhangs guarding the road to the city. The Assassins used these extensively until Al Mualim decided they were too close to town to effectively warn against oncoming enemies. A new path was later found that led to cliffs and outcrops far away from the city, so that the latter will have enough time to mount a sufficient defense before the invaders actually arrive. The old path then fell into disuse, which showed in the form of overgrown weeds that in some places obscured the actual trail. Altaïr, having no useful weapon on hand, resorted to stomping on the offending plants to clear the way.

The warm desert breeze played with his now slightly longer hair, stirring his robes into gentle waves. He pulled his hood down, feeling the unusual sensation of sunlight on his head. Below him peasants and merchants scurried along on the wide road leading to Masyaf, while the blue river beyond stretched serenely towards the distant mountains. Sighing, he carefully sat down on the pile of broken stems. It was quite beautiful up here, not to mention far more interesting than his bare hospital room.

The crack of a dried plant caught his attention. Altaïr shot up, flipping his hood over, grimacing at the pain that flared up. A figure in grey hood stood some twenty feet away.

"Altaïr! It is I, Abbas." Came the voice of the novice.

Altaïr scowled; being Abbas' teacher, the younger man should have called him "master". Granted he wasn't training him at the moment, but the formalities still stood.

"Does respect mean nothing to you?"

"I do apologize, _master_," the grey-robbed man's bow was much too low. Altaïr felt his left hand twitch.

"What are you doing here?"

"_The __Master_ sent me to look for you."

Altaïr's brows rose every so slightly in apprehension, something Abbas caught.

"News travels fast in Masyaf, eh? He demands an immediate audience."

"What about?"

"I think you know," The grey robed man said impatiently. He stabbed a thumb over his shoulder, "I suggest you follow me back."

"I know the way back. Get out of my sight." Altaïr spat in irritation. Abbas bowed again, and then walked away without looking back.

Altaïr glared at his "student", cursing his luck for having received him as a pupil. If anyone should be cast out of the brotherhood, it should be him. The boy was malicious to every living thing, particularly to the stray dogs that wandered the streets. The only person to whom he reserved some respect for was Al Mualim, and only because the Grand Master could literally have his head if he angered the old man. Altaïr waited until Abbas disappeared amongst the shrubbery before bringing himself to retrace his steps.

* * *

Almira breathed in the pleasant fragrance as she brought another basket of herbs from the traveling merchant up to the hospital. Halim, like Raja, decided to use her like a pack mule; basically to carry loads back and forth within the fortress. But ever since Ikram's marriage announcement, she noticed a change in Halim's disposition. She was given the lightest duties such as bringing in herbs or spreading out clean sheets, and never again assigned to clean the floors or to carry the vile load of clothes. She learned after the fact that the basket held the soiled garments of the infirmary's most grave patients, ones who no longer had the ability to hold themselves. Three more times she had to lug them, and comforted herself in the fact that she didn't have to _wash_ them. Now there's a horrifying thought.

Almira watched her surroundings, mainly so she could get out of the way if needed; being shoved by an assassin was no pleasant business. The clash of wooden blades came from the training arena as she walked past it. Throngs of men surrounded the fence, shouting random pieces of advice at the combatants inside. They were so many she couldn't chance a peek into the ring; whoever was fighting must be rather popular. The crowd tensed with the fervent clangs of wood, leaning anxiously inwards as the unseen fighters screamed at one another, their feet hurling up clouds of dirt. A few more blows and the sound of wood splintering reached her ears, followed by a painful grunt. A cheer suddenly ran through the audience, with some throwing their hands in the air in joy. Others were not so excited, hanging their head or chatting with discontentment. No doubt bets had been won and lost here.

Unfortunately, all this distraction led astray her focus. Almira turned back to her job to find herself much too close to…

"WOMAN, WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!" The figure barked at her, knocking her basket into the air. Fragile plants flew onto the dusty ground with soft thuds, while careless passerbys trampled a few into the dirt.

"No! Whathaveyoudone!" She cried out in horror; Halim would be furious! The herbs weren't cheap in the least bit, and they were needed at the hospital. The grey-robe man advanced on her, his features twisted with anger.

"_What did you say?!_" She froze, immediately recognizing Abbas' harsh voice; she wouldn't forget it for the rest of her life. Several of the men around the arena turned to watch.

Almira gulped, a cold sweat breaking across her back. "…Abbas, sir. I-I was in your way. I am so sorry."

She flinched before finishing her sentence, for Abbas had raised a hand. The slap set her left cheek aflame and made her step sideways. She gasped in pain, pressing a hand to the livid red mark.

"You would do well to watch your place, _woman_." Abbas pursed his lips and spat on her. His sneer didn't last long, however, because a hand whirled him around and he was sent sprawling from a fist planted square in his face. Almira instantly forgot about the pain, and instead felt nauseous as Abbas toppled straight into the pile of dried herbs. The novice sputtered and clutched at his broken nose. Blood gushed everywhere; into his mouth, onto his hand, dripping down his robes and onto the plants. For several seconds he sat on the ground, dazed from pain and shock.

"Stay your blade, and your fist, from the flesh of an innocent, Abbas." A voice bristling with anger and yet colder than ice came from the tall, white-robed assassin who seemingly appeared from nowhere. Abbas coughed, his mouth moved but no words came out. He tried again and Almira thought he looked like a fish gasping for water.

"The next time you break a tenet of the Creed, it will be my blade to your throat," Altaïr hissed. "Now get out of my sight."

Abbas clenched his jaws, his face still bleeding unceremoniously. With some difficulty he got back onto his feet, shooting a glare of pure hatred for the man standing over him. He muttered something obscene and stomped away. The small crowd parted for him like the Red Sea, and then dispersed.

While Altaïr sorted his student out, Almira had inched her way to the overturned basket. The ruined plants were scattered about the basket like crops abandoned in some ransacked village. There was no room for thinking here, since all there was to think about was the punishment she would later receive. Blocking out her turbulent mind, she gathered the broken flowers and placed them back into the woven container as if they were still usable.

"Are you alright?"

Almira looked up, holding a handful of dirty plants. Altaïr towered over her, remnants of his rage still palpable in the air. She slowly stood, dropping the bundle into the basket. What was he doing here? She was sure the hospital hadn't discharged him yet. She wanted to ask him, but it didn't seem appropriate.

"I would have been fine." She said instead. Her words were unexpected, she knew, because Altaïr straightened a little, his face a little more set.

"But I thank you nonetheless," she added, not wanting his wrath as well.

"You rather I did not help?"

"I am glad you helped, it's just…I am now left with this…" she gestured to the basket full of broken stems and crushed pedals. Had he not shown up she would've been beaten, badly, but at least she would still have a large portion of the medicine intact. She cast her gaze to the ground, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

"I didn't realize you preferred the alternative, I shall stay my hand next time." Altaïr said coolly, walking away.

"No, wait!" Almira called after him, realizing that she must sound extremely ungrateful. When he didn't turn around she ran to catch up to him, and tugged at his sleeve. The assassin stopped, his eyes making her neck hairs stand up on end. She let go immediately.

"What now? I have a meeting to attend."

"I…I didn't mean to sound rude. I do appreciate your arrival." She said quietly, not daring to look at him. "Please don't hesitate, should there be a next time."

He said nothing, but she felt his piercing eyes on her. It was the same feeling she got when Al Mualim looked her over. She turned stiffly to walk back to her basket.

"Almira."

"Yes?"

"I would like a word, when you are free to converse." Altaïr looked as if frowning, but his hood obscured his face.

"Yes. Of course." She said reluctantly. A shadow of a smile tugged at Altaïr's lips, and then he excused himself and headed up to the castle.

Almira sighed; it was now her job to make sure she never has time to talk to him. She bent down to carefully pick up the last of her luggage. The walk to the hospital felt like walking to the gallows. Halim had stressed the importance of the medicine; they were not only expensive - that could at least be remedied - they were _rare_, and do not reappear every season. These thoughts again made the fires of anger flare up within her. If only she watched her surroundings more carefully, she could have avoided all of this. Ugh, if only if only… She lingered around the huge double doors of the infirmary until she could delay no longer and, heart racing with anxiety, strode slowly into the massive building.

* * *

Altaïr felt the gazes of many as he entered the library. The building was enormous with an equally impressive collection of books; testament to the Brotherhood's wealth. The Grand Master of the Assassins always held his meetings here, even though the official room his predecessors used was further into the fortress. Altaïr saw the lit clearing above him where Al Mualim waited, as well as the doors that led into the garden. The glassy panels were open; an invitation to any privileged enough to come linger and forget their worries. Altaïr turned for the stairs instead, having no time for the simpler pleasures. His chest and hand still smarted from the exertion earlier, dull aches that he had learned to ignore. He took the stairs two at a time, approaching the large stained glass window at the other end. His steps slowed the closer he got, for he was sure of the old man's mood.

"Master." He bowed before the Master's desk.

"I recall not your release, Altaïr," the old man commented with apparent nonchalance, tending to the pigeons he kept by the window. To others he may sound as if his sentence was unfinished, but Altaïr knew better.

"I can stay there no longer."

"It is my wish for you to remain." Al Mualim's voice rang between the bookshelves. He turned to his pupil and paced in front of the solid table.

"But I have no desire to stay ther-"

"You will disobey me, boy?"

Defiance was evident on the younger man's face. "That place does not help me; my skills slide backward."

"Your skills shall deteriorate further if you continue to defy me," Al Mualim glared at him with annoyance, and something else. Altaïr saw concern in the old man's face; concern not like that given to a son, but like that given to a valuable asset. Assets weren't given emotional considerations, and the old man might just chain him to his bed if pushed too far.

"Master," he began, thinking over his words, "I merely believe I am well enough to recover on my own. My absence will only grant space to help another."

Silence lingered for a moment, before Al Mualim laughed quietly. "A change in strategy, I see."

Altaïr looked on with emotionless features while his superior walked again to the stained glass window. Beyond it, the sun lingered overhead, casting a bright wedge of light through the crystal. Al Mualim's messenger pigeons preened themselves carefully, watching the two with mild interest.

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted, you remember these words?" The elderly man's voice boomed around the study.

"Of course." Altaïr answered, confused as to where Al Mualim was headed.

"What is the meaning of this phrase then, my child?"

Altaïr tilted his head slightly upward, having not expected the question. What was the meaning? Al Mualim always commanded his students to search for it themselves, offering little advice along the way.

Apparently the Grand Master didn't expect, or didn't want, an answer; he spoke before Altaïr could gather a response.

"Think on those words, Altaïr, though you haven't the wisdom yet to fully understand them. You have my permission to leave the hospital. Now go, may peace and safety be upon you."

Before he finished Al Mualim had already turned his attention to the heavy book that rested on his solid desk, his one good eye taking in the scripted Arabic text that danced in willful strokes across the aged parchment. Altaïr bowed and then took his leave of the study. The Master's words rang in his ears. _Nothing is true, everything is permitted. _If everything is permitted, why must he abide by the Three Tenets? He grasped uncomfortably with the idea that "nothing was true" the world was an illusion, felt uneasy at the thought that his difficult accomplishments were nothing but mirages in the desert. The Assassin Scholars he questioned would shake their heads, saying he lacked the wisdom - the same thing Al Mualim spoke of - to fully comprehend the truth behind such seemingly simple words.

His thoughts bounded to the back of his mind when he reached the end of the stairs. Soft wind blew in from the Garden, inviting him with promises of relaxation and gentle pleasure. This time he heeded; he'll Malik later, perhaps at dinner time. Several Courtesans and assassins glanced at him as he entered their sanctuary. The women were beautiful, all of them, and trained in both social and physical grace. They gave nods of respect to him as he passed them. The younger girls shifted their poses, indicating their eagerness should he wish to talk, or require some _other_ services. Altaïr favored the presence of one particular girl, but didn't trust her enough to say anything important. He, after all, wasn't the only man visiting her.

He headed past the women and continued down the stairs, an action which made the women lose interest; the two lower levels of the Garden were reserved for those who came to be alone. Altaïr walked to the end of the third level and leaned against the railing. With some effort he clambered on top of the marble fence, resting his back against a pillar. The cliff ahead plunged hundreds of feet into the azure waters, while the wide gorges on either side served as a wind funnel. Soft air played with the loose folds of his uniform, bringing with it the scent of distant lands. He himself had to wait twenty years before being granted access to such scenery, and Kadar wouldn't earn this privilege for many years to come. And Almira, he suddenly thought, Almira will never be able to see this, no matter how many years she stayed here. His brows furrowed together as he again remembered the strange date. He couldn't risk scaring her if she truly was someone sent by the Templars, and he didn't want to pour his suspicions to Al Mualim unless something was _surely _amiss. He sighed, gazing at the distant greenery. The Garden was supposed to be a place of inner peace, and yet he felt nothing of the sort.

He got down from his resting place, deciding to use his well-honed skills to seek some form of answer.

* * *

_Note: yup, fastest update yet ^^ thanks to all who has read this since the beginning!!_


	16. Chapter 13

**CH 13**

Almira stared down at her fingers. They were pale, moist, the skin puckered from washing too many dishes. She pinched a section of her forefinger, peeling off a layer of bloated tissue. It looked like drowned skin, punishment for losing valuable hospital property. She quickly tossed it aside, flicking her fingers in disgust. The other maids stared at her, they've been doing it ever since Ikram's wedding announcement. She pressed a finger to her temple, trying to massage away the starting headache.

When she closed her eyes, Halim's serene features contorted with unprecedented anger.

"_LEAVE! Leave now! And unless you are grievously wounded, never set foot in here again."_

The memory pained her. Halim had been nothing but kind to her, to all his workers, and she repaid him by destroying a most precious cargo.

"Greetings, you are Almira, yes?"

The din of the dining hall came back in full force. Almira looked up from her table at a young girl. Almira nodded, upon which the maid smiled widely.

"I am Nadia; it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's mine," Almira responded. It wasn't true. She wasn't in a meet-new-people mood at the moment, but the formalities must be observed.

"Would you mind me sitting here?" Nadia asked, smiling sweetly. Something didn't seem right, but Almira shrugged, gesturing to the seat to indicate that it was open.

"I know it's been a while since you came here." Nadia laughed nervously, something Almira thought was very strange. "I, rather, we," the girl gestured to another table, where its occupants looked eagerly her way, "we're wondering if you would like to take lunch with us."

"Oh…"

"I know you are busy, aren't we all? It will be a great honor if you come."

"Hello, Nadia, have you not enough friends?"

"…Ikram," Nadia's eyes flashed with something Almira couldn't place. She stood up, "what are you doing here?"

"Visiting a friend of mine."

"I see. I hear you no longer work here."

"No. I am engaged, to _Jamal_."

"That's right! You're the lucky girl. But remember, engagement isn't marriage!" Nadia said playfully as she sauntered off to her table, where the servants glanced their way with unmasked animosity. Ikram sat down with a frown, shooting them a glare of daggers.

"I sense some nasty undercurrent, Ikram."

"Don't talk to her, she's a whore."

"Strong words."

"Suitable words. Ever since my wedding announcement she's been spreading rumors, I know she is. Jamal is too kind to say anything to me, but I know his _brothers_ are bothering him."

Almira sighed inwardly. Ikram was obviously upset, but she didn't want to be the comforting friend, not today. A tendril of annoyance found its way into her voice.

"Why be so vexed? You yourself said Jamal's heart is true and that he won't be swayed by such talk."

"It's just that…I am _so_ close, Almira, and yet so far away. One word from Jamal and this is all over. The other women know this; they spread poisonous words about me. I hate that I cannot be there to refute every nonsense Jamal hears."

"Why confide this to me? Am I not a woman?"

Ikram turned to her, aghast. "You…you won't! You are my friend!"

"I won't, no need to worry, I don't know why I said that."

"You...you really don't understand how precious this marriage is to me, do you?"

Almira cringed, that's another person she's hurt today. She bit her lips.

"I'm sorry."

Ikram sighed, raking her eyes over the crowd of servants sitting all around them. Many of the maids twisted their heads to look elsewhere.

"I didn't think I'd have to fight a hidden war. I must guard my every move, it's terrible."

"Jamal is a desirable man."

"_Too_ desirable, and now more so simply because he is marrying _me_. Women who never looked his way are now trying to tempt him."

Almira nodded in agreement, though she thought her friend was being overly paranoid.

"Ugh, I don't want to talk about this anymore." Ikram placed a hand to her head, as if having a headache. Almira shrugged, she hasn't exactly been contributing to the conversation.

"Right, so do you remember? The date?"

"Yes I do Ikram. You do not need to remind me every chance you get."

Ikram pouted, but remained quiet.

"So you no longer work anymore?" Almira decided to break the silence.

"It is against Jamal's wishes, and my father's. And in any case I must concentrate on decorating the house."

"So I won't see you around then."

"No, I suppose not. But worry not! I shall visit you every so often."

"You don't know where I'll be," Almira sighed softly.

"Yes I do. You'll be down by the stables at least four days in a row."

That made Almira smile.

"You've been here a long while, know of any way I can appease Raja?" She whispered, even though there was no need. The noise of the hall easily cloaked their voices.

"Ha, I think you are asking the wrong person. If she didn't take a liking to you at first sight, then there is no point in trying. Raja's heart is colder than an assassin's blade."

A shadow fell across their table, followed by a cold, sneering voice. "Hmph, didn't take long for the lamb to become a serpent."

"Raja."

"Do not use that tone with me, Ikram. The imam has yet to bless you."

Ikram quieted, but glared at Raja defiantly.

"Almira."

"Yes?" Almira thought her voice sounded like a man's. She coughed to clear her airway.

"I heard from Halim. Such a shame," Raja shook her head, sighing. "It was I who recommended you for the duty, I really did think you were excellent for it."

Then, quickly, her dark eyes filled with scorn. "I cannot believe he allowed you to go free, he needs to hand out sufficient punishment."

_Oh God, what now._ Raja's train of thought was terrifying to follow.

"Hold out your hands."

Almira obeyed reluctantly.

"Flip them over, stretch out your fingers."

She did so, watching a venomous smirk spread across her superior's thin lips.

"Ah, I believe kitchen duty for say, two months, should help you remember the lesson."

"Two…two months?" Almira gasped. She retracted her hands, balling them up.

Raja's eyes flashed dangerously. "I was thinking three, but I thought I would be kind, since you are a friend of Jamal's betrothed."

Almira gaped at her, thinking of nothing to say. Ikram may not need to work anymore, but she still does. Raja took one last look at them and walked away, satisfied.

"Oh why why why?" She slammed her palm into her forehead, which naturally did nothing to comfort her.

Ikram looked her sympathetically. "Now you understand how precious this marriage is to me."

* * *

The full moon dangled in the dark azure sky. Altaïr lingered around an old gnarled tree. His white robes, quite counter-intuitively, hid him from prying eyes. Beneath the hood his gaze focused on a distant form. The figure wore the dirty garments of a servant, and yet there was an air that was un-servantlike. It presented in the way she walked, and most certainly in the way she held her back straight, whereas most servant maids hunched over from working long hours.

He moved from his place beneath the tree and followed quietly. The few civilians parted for him; they could tell he was from the castle and, living in Masyaf, knew the hierarchy.

Altaïr was beginning to doubt himself. It's been weeks since he first started stalking her. He'd watched from the shadows as she made her rounds through the day, heard from a distance the harsh words Raja seemed to reserve specifically for her. The bristling hostility she displayed with her tense body surprised him, since most girls simply hung their heads in defeat. Malik had been sent away, so his questions were kept to himself.

The form skirted along the edge of the plaza; she was headed down to the stables, or to her home. The square was still full of people, guided by simple lamps that hung from the surrounding walls. He lagged many paces behind, gently pushing aside the few who blocked him. The building in which she lived loomed in the darkness. She walked right past it.

The stables it is.

That was the only place he didn't chance to go in; there were too many animals around to keep silent, and he didn't exactly hold the reputation of "eager equestrian". He watched from the shadows, and once she disappeared he sneaked his way to the back of the property, careful to keep out of sight and sound of any stable hands; they were always nervous about horse thieves, and would not hesitate to call out. His wound had healed enough to enable him to climb a tree, and from the branches he watched her bring out a dark horse. Again he frowned in disapproval.

_How inappropriate. Where did she learn this? Certainly not from my own people, and not the Templars either._

Furthermore, she looked well versed in the art.

_Where? Who is this woman?_

He stayed in the tree until the lesson was over, after which he followed her home. The old building in which she lived was by no means extravagant, but it was well above what the average servant dwelled in. The civilians were gone now, leaving him to stand alone in the dark. Dim light shone through an apartment window and extinguished after a while. He paced slowly around the aged walls, frustrated at being unable to piece together this puzzle.

* * *

Altaïr's eyes flew open, immediately aware of an ache in his back. Fragments of the black-blue sky shone through gaps in the curtains. He looked around and remembered that he had climbed into a roof garden to sleep for the night.

He sat up, stretched and then stood. A patch of vegetables lay squashed on the dirt, something he shrugged off. If the owners didn't want intruders on their plants, they shouldn't have placed it where they can't guard it. He swung his arms around, trying to crack ligaments back into place. After a final stretch he flipped his hood over and leapt out of the small shelter.

Outside, the air was cool and refreshing. Merchants were setting up their stalls, bringing their wares out in boxes and crates. He smiled in satisfaction; his timing was just right. The assassin crouched on the roof, waiting and observing the world below. Finally, the woman he was waiting for appeared. He pulled back from the edge, lowering himself with some difficulty into a small alley. Today was the beginning of the new week, which meant she would head for the stables. Altaïr kept himself invisible, slinking through the early morning crowd. Again he hesitated as she walked into the barn.

_No, I've waited long enough_, he prodded himself. Besides, now that it was day he could go under the pretense of riding for pleasure.

The sweet scent of hay hit him as he strode into the building. It was still too early and no one was in sight, save the skinny barn cat that leapt onto a roof beam as soon as it saw him. He wandered further in, taking several turns. His boots made the tiniest of noises on the newly swept ground. The wooden walls opened up into a row of stalls, each housing an Arabian stallion.

The stallions pricked their ears, not used to his scent or his clothing; assassins were never given stallions to ride on a mission. They were regarded unsuitable as war mounts.

Altaïr ignored them, continuing his expedition. The stables felt like a labyrinth, and the sheer strangeness of the place put his senses on high alert. Abruptly, and quite unexpectedly, the barn ended. By now the sky had brightened to a light blue, though the sun had yet to come up. Altaïr stood in the open, in front of him was a small corrals housing several wild-eyed young colts.

_Damn_, he cursed, _where is she?_

He must've moved too quickly, because the colts suddenly bolted. They galloped around the small enclosure in complete chaos, crying out when they slammed into each other. Altaïr, not seeing anywhere to hide, darted back into the stallion barn.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally wandered back where he'd started, now quite short of temper. A small boy approached the barn carrying two buckets.

"Hey! You!"

The boy jumped, causing some water to slosh out. "Y-yes master?"

"Where is Almira?"

"Almira?"

"Where is she?"

"Master, I…I do not know her…I've only just started..."

Altaïr glowered, suddenly wanting to beat the boy.

"S-sir," the boy backed away, "I'll, uh, I'll go get someone who might know."

"Might know what, young child?"

Altaïr tore his glare away to see Ahmed limping into the room. The old man's kind face immediately soured when he saw the assassin.

"You! You ruined my mare! How dare you come here with no business!"

Altaïr was taken aback, not expecting Ahmed to use such a voice with him. The elder's eyes raked over him and Altaïr felt a pit of resentment rising as their gazes met. The young boy took this opportunity to scurry away.

"I mean no trouble here. I only wish to speak with Almira."

"Almira is working, Altaïr. Have you nothing better to do?"

Altaïr ignored the question. "Surely she can spare a moment. It won't take long."

"No, she cannot. My horses are many and the day is short."

"This is a matter of urgency to the Brotherhood." Altaïr's brows furrowed, getting impatient.

"If it is urgent, why has the Master not send word?"

"Al Mualim has even greater matters to deal with. I am in charge of this particular issue. I need to speak with her."

"My workers are pressed for time, Altaïr, one delay will have lasting consequences. If it truely is so important, let Al Mualim send _written_ word, then I will be happy to oblige."

Before he could retort, the horseman held up a hand. "Now, I must attend to Reem. You remember her, yes?"

"Reem is a good horse," Altaïr responded swiftly.

"She saved your life! And you repaid her by lameing her! She can never be ridden again."

"It wasn't my fault!"

"Of course it was! Why must you hurry back? You could have waited a few more days until things quieted down!" The old man's voice lowered to a hiss. "I gave you one of my most prized mares, and you treat her like some common beast."

"Ahmed," the assassin fumed, "there was nothing I _could_ do."

"Huph, so you say. Now leave, Altaïr, you are wasting my time." The horseman limped away, leaving Altaïr alone in the spacious opening of the barn. By now the stable's workers were showing up in earnest. They gave a wide berth to the white-clad assassin, having heard the two argue from afar. With an incensed huff he marched away, his posture the very embodiment of fury. An omnious feeling of failure pressed in on his chest.

_No_, he snarled, _I do not fail, ever._

He didn't have long to linger on his thoughts, however, because at that moment a familiar assassin rode through the imposing gates of Masyaf.

"Oy, Altaïr!" The rider shouted. He had another with him, slumped over the front of the saddle. The white robed man expertly dismounted, bringing his hostage to the ground. Altaïr marched over, staring at the mass quivering by his friend's feet.

"Malik. What is this?"

"This," Malik tugged at the pale man, whose eyes darted between the two assassins, "is for Rauf."

The man tried to run. Malik jerked him back.

"P-please," he pleaded, "please don't do this."

"Shut it!" Altaïr punched him across the jaw. He raised another hand when Malik caught his wrist and threw it to the side.

"This man took me a good half day to track, don't you dare break him! I'd like to see what I've taught Rauf. Do not follow me if you cannot keep your fists to yourself."

Altaïr grumbled with ire, but nodded. The man rubbed the side of his face where he was struck and shivered violently, despite the fairly warm temperature. Malik heeded him not, literally dragging his prisoner into the fortress. Altaïr followed a few paces behind, managing to kick the man a few times when he started resisting. He felt much better; a punching bag was all he needed. The man would recuperate for a few days, and then Rauf shall be given a chance to formally join the Assassins.

As Malik went to present his captive to Al Mualim, Altaïr watched the sprawling stables from a castle tower. A miniscule smirk crossed his features. He would let the matter rest for a few hours, until the sun goes down and the alleys darken. _Ahmed can only protect you for so long, al-Dimashqi._


End file.
